Chiroptophobia
by cmar
Summary: Old relationships are renewed as Batman faces his greatest enemy... his own fear. Last in 'Birds of a Feather' Batman and Nightwing AU series. Complete!
1. Downfall

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this. 

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

This is the last part of the AU story arc which started with 'Birds of a Feather'. While you don't absolutely have to have read the previous stories, it would help. The main premise is that Bruce never went to the circus the night the Graysons were murdered, he and Dick met later on, and Dick was never Robin, only Nightwing. Subsequent events continue from that, with the inclusion of Kathy Kane/Batwoman's brief career and its tragic ending. Specific credits: the main plotline is adapted from 'The Man Who Ended Batman's Career' (Detective 247, 1957), 'Robin Dies at Dawn' (Batman 156, 1963), with elements from the 'Batman: Prodigal' story arc (various, 1994/95) and other sources.

(Edit after posting: I had a plot outline and started writing this before seeing 'Batman Begins', so the similarities are coincidental - but interesting.)

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Downfall

- - -

Whispers. They drifted through air heavy with the mustiness of long abandonment, just a breath of sound in his ears, vibrating faintly from the walls. Someone was here. Or something. Something dark, that watched from the shadows.

Batman found himself sitting up, shivering as he scanned the area around him for danger. Nothing. Just an empty space, dark and cavernous, lit only by dim, crisscrossed shafts of light filled with dancing motes of dust. He was alone, and yet - he could feel the pressure of eyes on him. Someone was watching. Someone was whispering, somewhere.

Slowly and cautiously he climbed to his feet, looking around and then up, trying in vain to find the walls and ceiling. They were lost in shadows. Impossible even to judge how big this room was, or even whether he was indoors or out. He considered calling out, both to see if he got a response from whoever was out there and to estimate how big the space was from the echo, but somehow couldn't bring himself to break the eerie not-quite-silence.

_Where is this? How did I get here? _He wouldn't find the answers just standing there. Suddenly he was gripped by an almost panicky sense of being exposed, in the open, with someone lurking nearby, watching, ready to attack. There must a door, a way out, somewhere. Just had to find it. With a last look around, Batman picked a direction and started to move, quickly going from a walk to a trot. Faint echoes of his footsteps followed.

_'Bruce...'_

He jolted to a stop, listening with an intensity that almost hurt. It had been only the softest of sounds, impossible to be sure he had really heard it. And there was no one there, only a floor he now saw was made of stained cement, bare of anything except dust and dirt, lit in irregular patches as if by unseen street lights. A dingy, crumbling brick wall had appeared ahead, stretching in both directions as far as he could see. He stopped, looking in one direction and then the other. There was another faint sound, soft voices, a hint of movement a few yards away. Three dark silhouettes were moving a few yards from him, their footsteps a whispery echo, slowly walking away towards an opening in the wall that led into inky blackness. The smallest ran ahead, leaving a tinkling trail of childish laughter.

"Wait!" Urgency and fear gripped him. Without examining where they came from, Batman began to run after them. The shadowy forms seemed to retreat as fast as he could approach, disappearing into the darkness. "No! Come back!" he cried, trailing to a halt, confused and shaken by his own inexplicable sense of dread. In the next moment he cried out in surprise and fear as something _touched_ him, brushing across one arm.

"Who's there?" His shout seemed to shatter the silence, and fall into nothingness. He turned, took a few uncertain steps, turning in a circle as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in the conviction that someone was right behind him, was stalking him, about to attack.

_'Bruce...'_

"Who is it?" The voice had been so faint, only a sigh, but this time he was sure it was a woman. Batman strained his eyes, trying to see something - anything. A darker form seemed to detach itself from the shadows, and drift closer. The whispering intensified until he could almost really hear it, a background of high-pitched sounds.

_'Look at me.'_

A woman, yes. Her form solidified out of darkness, black hair streaming over bare shoulders that were a ghostly white, her face shadowed.

"Kathy...?" He started for her, reaching out, and caught a glimpse of empty, lifeless eyes. She drifted backwards, away from him, fading into that same black opening in the wall. He started to pursue.

"Batman, no! Don't do it!"

Startled, he turned, and jerked away reflexively as hands grabbed at his shoulders. Someone was in front of him, holding him back. A dark-haired man, a few inches shorter than himself, in a black costume with a midnight blue V across the chest, a narrow black mask over his eyes. "Dick? Nightwing?" Batman said hesitantly.

"Come on! We have to get out of here!"

"What's going on? Where are we?"

"No time to talk about it. Just come on!" Nightwing was pulling at his arm urgently.

"No!" Batman set his feet and refused to move. "Those people... and Kathy... Where are they?"

"Gone. They're all gone. Come on!"

"I can't leave!" He yanked free and turned away.

"Don't do it, Batman! Don't try to find them!" Nightwing was in front of him again, blocking his way. "We have to get out. Now. Trust me."

"Trust you? Why should I?" Batman pushed him roughly out of the way, and saw him stagger back. "I'm going after them." At a run, he started for the wall and the opening into which Kathy and the three people he had seen had vanished.

There was only the faintest light inside, a lone streetlamp reflecting from the walls of a dirty alleyway, glimmering on the metal of a pile of trash cans. He heard movement ahead. Footsteps. A child's faint laughter. A man's voice. A woman, screaming in the distance. And then the echo of a gunshot.

Another few steps brought him close enough to see, only shadows, human forms lying sprawled on the cold cement, a young boy standing over them. As Batman paused, the child looked up, his face the only clearly visible thing in that dark place, his eyes catching a stray gleam of light as his lips twisted into a sardonic smile...

An almost physical shock ran through Batman. He staggered as if hit, and backed away, suddenly and overwhelmingly terrified, afraid of the darkness, afraid the light would brighten and he would see... He jumped violently as a hand fell on his shoulder.

"I told you not to go, but you wouldn't listen. You never do." It was Nightwing's voice, and his face against the dark as Batman swung around.

The sound of whispering had returned, or perhaps it had never stopped. It was getting louder, turning into a vast rustling, the stirring of some unseen, unknowable force all around them. Batman tensed, again turning in a circle to look all around. He faced Nightwing again, seeing him a few steps away, the fear on his face clearly visible even in the dimness. "What is it?" he asked softly.

"Too late. It's coming..."

Before Batman could ask what _it_ was, it was on them. Nightwing stiffened, his body rising upwards in a jerking motion, as a darker cloud flowed around him. He screamed, a blood-chilling cry of agony as he dissolved, becoming one with the mass of small black shadows lifting and tearing at him. They whirled in the shape of his body, and then burst out, a wave of them, impossible numbers of them, like one living, monstrous being composed of small black flying creatures.

"Noooo!" Batman's own scream was swallowed in their cries, a shrill echoing noise that filled his head with pain as they surrounded him, their bodies colliding with his in a barrage of impacts. He was blinded, unable to think, unable to react, as the touch of their leather wings buffeted him and the sound of their calls intensified into a deafening, mind-numbing roar and then faded, leaving only darkness.

- - -

_Oh man. This is so not a good idea._

But there was no way to go back, not when he heard another thin, high wail of terror rising above the crackle of flames. Nightwing briefly wished he had included a cape in his costume, anything to cover his head. At least he had the flimsy protection of the thin dust mask he had slipped over his nose and mouth. Crouching low, he moved as fast as he could down the smoke-filled hallway of a burning apartment building and paused in front of a partially opened door.

Another cry confirmed that this was the place. No smoke coming out, and the fact that someone was alive in there told him it would probably be safe to enter. Quickly he pushed through and took in the situation. The air was thick with haze and almost unbreathable. He would have only a few minutes to find the child and get them both out.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Where are you?"

Only the sound of crying; the kid must be too scared to answer. It was enough to give him a direction. He groped his way in the smoke into a bedroom: beds, a dresser, night tables. He called again, and turned as there was a burst of coughing from behind a door. A closet, he discovered when he opened it, with a small form huddled inside, fearful eyes turned up to him. A boy, maybe five years old.

"Hey, it's okay." Nightwing bent and reached out. "I'm going to get you out of here. Everything's going to be fine." As he picked the child up, two thin arms closed around his neck with desperate force. _Great, now I'm being strangled too._ "Is there anyone else here?" No answer. A quick search and another couple of shouts turned up no one.

Making soothing noises, he went back into the living room of the apartment. No use even trying the hallway now, they'd never make it. The window was the only way. But - the lower floors were engulfed in flame, as a glance down told him. No way they'd make it down the fire escape either. The only way was up.

Carefully he climbed out the window, one arm holding the boy, and then started up the shaky ladder through drifting clouds of smoke. The air was better outside, but not by much. Lucky it wasn't a downtown skyscraper, he reflected, only one floor up before they reached the roof. Once there, he paused to fumble one-handed for his hook and line and tossed it up to catch the low roof fence.

"Hey," he said, bending his head to look at the boy. "What's your name?"

It was only a small, scared murmur, barely loud enough to hear. "Robbie."

Nightwing found himself smiling. Robbie. The same name he had used as an alias in Gotham City - how long ago? Must be about three years now. "Robbie, do you think you can hold on to me real tight?" Not that he wasn't already.

"Uh-huh."

"Good. I'm going to have to let go of you so we can climb up to the roof. Just close your eyes and hang on, and everything's going to be okay."

"Okay."

Nightwing pulled on the rope, braced a foot on the wall, and let go. The boy held on, arms around his neck and legs around his ribs. As quickly as he could, Nightwing climbed, hand over hand. In less than a minute he was awkwardly maneuvering them over the edge. Then he ran for the other side of the building.

_Now what...? _It was no better on this side. Smoke and flame were pouring out open windows, and he could see them intensifying and creeping upwards. No way down this fire escape, either.

"Are we gonna die?"

Nightwing tried to look and sound reassuring. "Of course not. I said everything was going to be fine, didn't I? Would I lie to you?"

He could only hope it wasn't a lie. People had seen them... A few firefighters and the inevitable bystanders were pointing and waving. Not that it would do any good; no way they could get a ladder up safely through all that smoke and fire. Still, it looked like they were trying - he spotted a fire truck below, the ladder rotating in their direction. No good, it would never reach this high unless the truck got closer to the building, too close. It wouldn't reach, and they knew it, the ladder had stopped moving. But...

"Robbie! Can you hold on again for me?"

The boy's face was pressed into his shoulder, but he could hear a muffled "I think so."

"Good. Now close your eyes, and don't worry." He already had his rope in hand again, the small hook on the end whirling in a circle around his head. It flew out in a shallow arc - and fell just short of the upper end of the ladder. He restrained a curse as he pulled it back in.

But they must have seen it below. The ladder moved again, coming closer, and stopped, perhaps twenty-five feet away from the building wall and ten feet or so below them. Close enough. He swung the rope again, and threw it again. This time the hook caught. After a tug to make sure it was secure, Nightwing stepped up to balance on the rooftop railing.

"Okay, here we go," he muttered softly, half to Robbie and half to himself.

And then they were flying, for an instant the memory of the trapeze running through his mind as they fell, the rope pulling them into an arc, sweeping towards the base of the ladder. They would hit hard... Nightwing braced himself, and took the impact on his feet, bending his knees. They swung back, not as fast. He concentrated on his grip on the rope as they slowed, and as the ladder began to retract, lowering them.

When his boots landed on solid ground, Nightwing blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, taking just a moment to relax in relief before the firefighters surrounded them. A small, soot-smeared face stared at him, wide-eyed, as a fireman lifted Robbie gently out of his grip.

"So long, kid," he said with a smile.

Robbie's hand lifted in a wave. "Thank you, Batman," he called.

- - -

"Batman? Batman! Can you hear me?"

"No! Get away from me!"

"It's okay. You're safe. Just relax." The voice lowered and continued. "I think he's coming out of it. At least he seems to hear me now."

The voice. So familiar. "Jim?" Batman asked.

"Yes, it's me." His friend peered at him anxiously. "Do you know where you are now?"

"Where? I... I..." He looked around. The dark, empty space was gone, leaving only an echoing image in his mind, almost like a fading double exposure. He was lying on his back on a cold floor, facing up to a brightly lit ceiling. Neatly stacked crates lined the walls he could see around them. Several boxes lay carelessly dropped here and there on the floor.

"This is Apex Chemicals. Do you remember what happened?"

"Apex..." Batman sat up slowly. "Apex. The Scarecrow."

"Right. There was a robbery. Silent alarms. You got here first."

It had been dark then. He had come in quietly, and gone after them. "I found them - here, I think. They were going through the chemical supplies stored here."

"What happened?"

"I got a couple of them." Batman frowned, raising a hand to his head. The Scarecrow had seen him. He remembered that tall, thin shape dressed in rags, head covered completely in a rough cloth hood. "He - he shot something at me. Couldn't see it in the dark. Felt like a fine spray, or a powder."

"Fear gas."

"Heard about that." He smiled ruefully. "Can't say I enjoyed my first experience of it."

"Before this, it's just induced a panic attack in his victims, long enough to incapacitate them. But when we found you, you seemed to be - hallucinating. Shouting about bats."

"Yeah." The blackness. Those people and Kathy disappearing, Nightwing being torn apart. Small flying bodies coming at him in a swarm, the whisper turning into an overwhelming chorus of shrill cries. Batman felt the beginnings of a headache. "Yeah, it was a hallucination, all right."

"About bats?"

"I don't remember much." It was a lie, but somehow it would be too personal to describe that dark vision of fear and loss, especially when it would mean thinking about Kathy and Dick more than he felt prepared to.

"Okay." Gordon looked at him carefully again, and frowned. "The same thing seems to have happened to one of the night guards. He's recovering, but he's been taken to the hospital."

"No hospital for me." Batman climbed to his feet, trying not to show how badly the movement made his head spin.

Gordon seemed to hesitate, but doubtless long experience had taught him not to argue. "You don't look like you should be driving."

"Don't worry. I'll call someone." He watched as Gordon got up. "What did they take?"

"We've got the company people coming in to do an inventory. Looks like a whole collection of various chemicals, along with general lab supplies. Exactly the kind of stuff you'd expect the Scarecrow to steal."

"Right. I'll - I'll be in touch." He turned away.

Just for an instant, as he stepped outside into the night, the faint whisper of tiny, shrill voices seemed to drift to him. Batman looked up, and saw nothing above but the few stars bright enough to show through the glow of street and building lights. No cloud of bats, of course not, not in the middle of the city. Still, he found himself shivering.

- - -

Dick Grayson sighed as he closed the suitcase. Despite his best efforts, he always seemed to end up with more stuff than he could carry. He always had to leave things behind. Starting with all he had left behind in Gotham. Had it really been two years now? Yes, about three years since he had first seen Batman in that shadowy alley, helped him, been helped by him, and two years since their brief partnership had ended.

_It didn't just **end**._ Yes, it had been a bit more dramatic than that. Kathy's death, his own near-death, his recovery, and then that argument when Bruce tried to make him quit. _No, call it what it was, a fight._ Getting hit had hurt, but Bruce's words had hurt even more, and done more lasting damage. There had been no apologies; even if Bruce had wanted to offer them, Dick had left without giving him the chance, and there had been no contact between them since then.

With another sigh, he resolved to stop thinking about it. It was only that hearing Robbie's name and being mistaken for Batman had reminded him. Kind of funny, really. Except somehow he had trouble laughing.

Enough. It was time to move on, and now he was ready. Dick glanced over his map again before folding it, tucking it into a pocket, and picking up his backpack and suitcase. He had picked out a city for his next stop. Bludhaven, a little place along the coast. Only coincidence that it was right next door to Gotham City.

- - -

  
TBC... 


	2. Rebound

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Rebound

- - -

Bruce stared into the black surface of his second cup of coffee, trying to concentrate on the smell rising from it, letting it cut through the haze of sleep that still seemed to be fogging his mind. He took a sip and put it down, yawned, and stretched in a vain attempt to get his body to wake up.

"Sir, are you quite sure you're all right?"

He glanced up at Alfred, who was standing over him by the small kitchen table, obviously trying not to look worried and not succeeding. "Yeah, I'm sure. Just a late night."

"From what I heard on the news, the Scarecrow's fear drugs are nothing to take lightly."

"And I'm not. That guard he gassed was released from the hospital yesterday. I'm fine too, just a little tired still." He summoned a smile for his butler. He'd be back to normal soon enough, after he caught up on his sleep. If he could have a night uninterrupted by dreams, undoubtedly caused by that nightmare illusion. He frowned at the memory of darkness broken by the still darker shapes of flying creatures and the echoes of their sharp, shrill cries, echoing in the depths of an alleyway that hid something he didn't want to see. The same dream, two nights in a row.

"I hope so. You will need your wits about you today." Alfred's face had returned to its usual neutrality, but there was a definite hint of disapproval in his voice.

"Selina won't bite."

The butler reached down to remove his half-finished coffee and took it to the sink. "I am not entirely sure about that. Ms. Kyle has proved herself to be quite a bit more dangerous than she appears."

"She's reformed now, remember? I'm sure she's sincere, too." Bruce sighed. "It won't be easy for her, getting back on her feet after almost three years in jail. After all that's gone on between us, the least I can do is make sure she's all right."

"She can bloody well take care of herself, that one," Alfred muttered under his breath as he rinsed out the cup.

"Excuse me?"

"I have no doubt Ms. Kyle will always land on her feet. Like a cat."

"Even cats can use a helping hand. Selina hasn't had a particularly easy life. She grew up poor. Married a man who turned out to be abusive."

"Many others have faced similar difficulties and remained law-abiding citizens."

"True." Bruce shrugged. "What can I say? Selina gave herself up, did her time, paid her debt to society. She seems to want to turn her life around. Is it so bad to help her do it?"

Alfred had finished at the sink, and his expression softened as he turned to look at Bruce again. "No, sir. A large part of combating crime is helping former criminals to stay on the right side of the law, or it should be. I just would not wish you to - find yourself regretting this."

"I'd regret it a lot more if I didn't make the effort." Bruce got up, looking at his watch. "I'd better get going if I want to meet her when she comes out. Don't know why they have to do this first thing in the morning."

"It's almost noon, sir."

Bruce smiled in genuine humor. "Like I said, first thing in the morning."

- - -

_Not much to look at._ That was Dick's first impression of Blüdhaven as he drove down what seemed to be one of the main streets, stopping at a light to stare up from his motorcycle at dingy apartments and depressed-looking office buildings. It reminded him of some of the poorer sections of Gotham City. And _that_ reminded him of just how close he was to Gotham.

All he had to do was turn around, get back on the highway, and he could be in the city in a couple of hours. He could go by the mansion, see Bruce and Alfred... see if Barbara was around... go home...

_No. Not home._ Dick frowned at the street before him. Gotham hadn't been his home for two years. Bruce was no longer his friend, Barbara no longer his girl. All of that was gone. No point in giving in to the feelings of bitter nostalgia that would overwhelm him if he gave them half a chance. It was just that he'd been on the move for so long, with no long-term friends. It was just that no one liked facing the fact that he had no home.

Speaking of which... he pulled over at the first motel he spotted with a vacancy sign, and minutes later, after finding the cost was low enough for him to afford, was signing the usual forms.

"How long you staying for?" The clerk, a bored-looking teenaged boy, was holding a magazine whose cover featured a glossy picture of a pouting woman. Maybe she was upset because someone seemed to have stolen almost all her clothing.

"Don't know yet. A few days, maybe a week or two."

"Costs less if you pay by the week."

"Okay. I should be here that long, at least." He pulled out his wallet.

"Where you from?"

Dick shrugged. "A few places. California, Colorado, Texas, Georgia, North Carolina. Take your pick."

"Like to travel, huh?"

"I guess." But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. He didn't particularly like moving on every few weeks or months, but he had simply never felt comfortable in any of those places. Everywhere, the restlessness would creep in on him, the urge to go - somewhere else. Someplace where he could find a purpose again. Lately he had come to suspect that there was only one place where he would find it, the one place to which he had sworn he would never return.

"Enjoy your stay. Lemme know if you need anything." The kid was already engrossed in his magazine again, his customer almost forgotten.

"Thanks." Dick started back out, to find his room and retrieve his backpack and suitcase.

- - -

Bruce examined Selina's face, trying not to let her see him staring. She seemed distracted by looking around the small restaurant where he had brought her for lunch, which made it easier. Still, her eyes moved back to meet his, and she smiled faintly. Those green eyes he remembered so vividly were still bright, her hair still a gleaming black, her skin still fair and smooth. He had to admit she was still beautiful, but in a more subtle way now, no makeup and plain clothes that were a little too loose on her - she had lost some weight - but there was still that sense of inner fire that had attracted him to her in the first place. That still attracted him, he realized.

He had been mildly surprised when she had agreed to this meal with him, after the prison had released her. Or maybe he shouldn't be; she must be disoriented on her first day out after close to three years. Her former way of life was over, or at least he hoped so. Her former friends were gone; he hoped that was true too, considering they had all been criminals. She had nothing to go back to.

"So... what are your plans?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Start over, I guess. Find a place to live. Look for a job."

He was tempted to offer to let her stay at his house, but knew that wouldn't be a good idea for either of them. "I can help you find a place to stay, at least temporarily."

"No need." Her eyes were on him again, with a hint of curiosity. "There are plenty of hotels."

"But you don't have a lot of money, do you?"

He was afraid the blunt question would offend her, but she smiled. "Actually, I do. And not the ill-gotten gains from my robberies, don't worry. While I was in jail, my lawyers worked out a settlement with my ex-husband. He's a very wealthy man, as you know."

"Really? You didn't tell me you were still involved in legal action against him." They had spoken a few times at the jail after she had consented to see him. She had told him a few things about her past over the course of several tense and uncomfortable visits, but not this.

"I don't have to tell you everything."

"Selina, you don't have to tell me anything at all. But I'm glad to hear you're getting something out of Mitch, after all this time." Bruce had met her ex-husband socially a few times and had never liked him, a feeling that was only amplified by his new knowledge of Selina's relationship to him and the way she had been treated.

"Well, I was hardly in a position to go after him legally when I was the Catwoman," she murmured. "And I'm lucky that he never knew that he was my first robbery victim." With a smile at Bruce's startled expression, she added, "If he had known, I might not have gotten such a generous settlement. I hope you're not going to give me away, out of your vast sense of truth and justice?"

"No. No, I guess justice has been served well enough." He was quiet for a moment, watching her finish her lunch. "Well... If there's anything I can do to help, let me know."

"Nothing I can think of."

"I'm sorry about - you know, what happened between us."

"So you've told me." Her green eyes fixed on him; her lips twisted in a half-smile. "I blame Batman for it more than you. And be sure to tell him that, when you see him." She stood and picked up her purse. "Thanks for lunch, Bruce. I'll take a cab from here. See you around."

He watched her walk away. The view would normally be a pleasant one, but today it gave him nothing but pain as he wondered whether they would meet again, and wondered also exactly why that seemed to be what he wanted.

- - -

He squatted on the corner of a rooftop, carved stone hard and cold beneath his booted feet, a thin breeze lifting his hair and blowing it into his eyes. Impatiently Nightwing brushed it back, absently noting that he needed a haircut, but the main part of his attention never wavering from the small drama developing below.

They must have come from the movie theatre down the block, and taken a shortcut through the alley below. Not very smart, considering the reputation downtown Blüdhaven had, especially at night. As he watched, the young couple slowed, their body language becoming nervous. They had probably realized their mistake - but instead of turning back, they moved closer together and reached out to the young child trailing behind them, each taking a hand.

Nightwing's eyes moved back to the shadowy corner almost directly beneath him where he had seen the tiny flare of a cigarette only minutes before. He tensed as the family passed it, and moved slightly, balancing on the balls of his feet, as a form emerged, the harsh light of a street lamp glinting from the metal of a gun barrel.

"_Don't move or I'll blow your heads off!"_ Even as the voice drifted up from the street, Nightwing slid off the roof and down the rope already fastened and waiting for him. His feet made a slight thump as he landed behind the mugger. As intended, the man heard it and whirled, eyes wide with sudden panic, gun waving.

He was hardly even a challenge despite the weapon, the kind of punk Nightwing knew he could almost take in his sleep. Still, he felt his heart pound as he ducked under the line of fire, chopped a backhanded blow to the thief's wrist, and rose into a roundhouse kick that sent the gun flying. That was good, it was fear that kept you cautious, that kept you alive. He jabbed another kick into the man's stomach, and a punch to his jaw as he doubled over. Then it only took a few seconds to pin the mugger flat on his face, twist his arms behind his back, and handcuff him.

Nightwing straightened to find the couple and child huddled and staring. They seemed almost as much afraid of him as of their attacker, as they flinched back when he took a step towards them. He stopped and frowned, wondering why he was so surprised to see that the child was a little girl.

"It's okay, you're safe now," he said. "Call the cops, will you?" Turning away from their fearful eyes, he took a few steps, reached for his rope, and began to climb.

"Thank you..." he heard behind him. At least they hadn't called him Batman.

And that was when he realized what had seemed so familiar about the whole incident. A young couple, a child, a mugging, a gun. When it had happened to Bruce and his parents, the outcome had been very different. That was what Batman was all about, preventing exactly the kind of tragedy that had almost happened again tonight. That, and revenge. As it was what Nightwing was all about.

_The second time I've been reminded of Bruce in the last few days... _No more than a coincidence? Or maybe only what he should expect, when he had chosen to come here, so close to Gotham. And why had he come here, exactly? _Did I think Bruce would show up to welcome me with open arms, and beg me to forgive him? Did I think I'd run into Barbara somehow and everything would be different this time?_ Dick smiled as he stripped off the Nightwing mask in a deserted alley, his night's work done. No, that definitely wasn't Bruce's style, or Barbara's.

Forgiveness... The thought nagged at him as Dick finished changing. Tonight he had used the training Bruce - Batman - had given him. He still used weapons Bruce had provided. Was still living, in part, on money he had saved while working for Wayne Enterprises and earning a more-than-generous salary. Not to mention all the times he had visited Bruce's house, eaten his food; all the conversations, the advice, the bond between them that came from a shared loss and shared purpose. There was no escaping the fact that he owed Bruce a huge debt, certainly owed him loyalty, and perhaps owed him friendship as well. Had it been wrong to leave like that?

_He didn't exactly give me much choice._ No, the only other choice had been to give up being Nightwing. And that was no choice at all. He felt the familiar anger at the memory of that night, the angry and accusing words, Bruce's fist... _He wouldn't listen. Even said that Kathy's death was my fault. What else could I have done but leave? There was nothing to stay for, not after that, and after Barbara dumped me._

_But you could have understood that he just lost someone he loved. That he wasn't thinking clearly. That he needed his friends. And you could have tried telling Barbara the truth, instead of expecting her to ignore all the lies._ It was his own thought, but it brought a frown to Dick's face. Then he shrugged.

It had all been over for two years. Barbara... it would never work, not as long as he had to deceive her in order to protect his identity. As for Bruce, he had apparently gotten along perfectly well without him, certainly didn't want to renew their partnership or probably even want to see him again. And if not - after tonight Batman would be certain to know Nightwing was operating practically right next door. If he had anything to say, let him come and say it.

- - -

"Going out, sir?"

Bruce barely stopped himself from jumping as the sound of Alfred's voice startled him. He turned away from the Batman costume he had been staring at and glanced at his butler. Alfred's face was wearing its blankest professional British butler expression, and yet - there was something there that warned him something was up.

"I suppose so. The Scarecrow's still out there, and I want to find out what he's after this time." He reached for the costume again, and again hesitated, unsure of why he felt so reluctant to touch it.

"I heard an interesting item on the news just now."

"Really? What?"

"Perhaps you wouldn't want to hear about it."

"Perhaps not." Bruce waited, hiding a smile.

"Still, it seems relevant to your - er - nocturnal activities, sir."

"Well, then, you'd better tell me, hadn't you?"

"I don't like to bring up what may be an unpleasant topic..."

"If you didn't want to tell me, you wouldn't have mentioned it, would you?" Bruce asked mildly. His eyes narrowed as he saw Alfred begin to look genuinely uncomfortable. "Stop playing games and spill it if it's important. I'm sure I can take it. Besides," he turned back to the costume, "I'm bound to hear about it anyway if it's on the news."

"Yes, sir. It's about Mr. Grayson, sir. Or rather, Nightwing."

Bruce was glad he had his back to his old friend and butler, since he knew his face would be reflecting the effect that name had on him. It would be showing surprise, guilt, concern... If Alfred thought it was important enough to tell him personally - was it the news he always, in the back of his mind, feared hearing about his former partner? "What about him?" he asked sharply. "Is he all right?"

Apparently that response won Alfred's approval, because his voice was considerably warmer as he said, "He seems better than all right. He stopped a mugging earlier tonight. Very expertly, it seems."

"Oh. Well, that's nice. But hardly the first time we've heard something like that."

"This happened in Blüdhaven, sir."

Bruce stopped in the middle of another reach for his costume. "Blüdhaven?" So close. Only a couple of hours' drive. He could go there now, tonight, go looking, apologize for his behavior, try to make things right... He turned, and saw Alfred watching. Was that what he expected, for Bruce to go flying off to find Dick, to patch up their differences, and be friends again? If so, he'd be disappointed. Like most things in life, it wasn't quite that easy, not when Dick had every reason to never want their paths to cross again.

He faced away, staring at the costume. "Thanks for telling me, Alfred."

"Do you think there's any chance you might - encounter him?"

"Not much, unless he comes to Gotham. And if he follows his usual pattern, he'll move on again soon."

"It seems a shame."

Again Bruce was glad no one could see his face. "If he wants to talk, he knows where to find me."

"I see, sir. Well... I'd best be about my duties. Good luck in your search tonight." The tone was neutral, the footsteps steady as they sounded on the stairs leading up from the cave and vanished into silence.

_Why am I standing here wasting time like this?_ Bruce reached for the Batman suit and picked it up this time, wondering why the sight of the bat emblem sent a shiver of distaste through him. It must be that the mention of Dick Grayson had shaken him up. All the more reason to go out, and lose himself in the one thing that had never failed to absorb his thoughts and emotions, to make up for the loss of Bruce Wayne's personal life in the far more important cause of the Batman's mission.

And yet - he felt another cold shiver as he pulled the mask over his face and, just for a moment, seemed to hear a chorus of small, shrill voices that he knew could only be in his mind. A shiver - of fear.

- - -

TBC...


	3. Echo

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Echo

- - -

A full moon floated in the night sky, only a thin pane of glass between him and it. Batman watched it, wondering if he had really seen something dark, with wings, move across its silver surface. Not surprising if he had, it must have been a bird, although it hadn't looked like one.

"Batman? Did you hear me?"

He turned away from the window of Commissioner Gordon's office and glanced at the desk. "Of course I did. The Scarecrow has gotten two more people with his latest fear gas, not as part of a robbery but apparently as deliberate, personal attacks. You're wondering why he'd have a grudge against a corporate vice-president and a district attorney."

Gordon watched him thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "Avery Billingsley is a rich man. Marian Davis is an influential DA and also has family money. I thought they might have been failed kidnappings, but in both cases the Scarecrow went to considerable trouble to get at them, finding out their schedules and catching both of them alone. Then he just sprayed them with fear gas and left."

"How are they?" Batman asked, turning back to the window and seeing Gordon's reflected image shrug.

"They both had intense, obviously terrifying hallucinations which lasted several minutes. Both were hospitalized and released."

"Any aftereffects?"

"None that I know of." Gordon waited a beat before adding, "But - remember the guard who was gassed the same night you were?"

"Yes."

"He hasn't gone back to work. The detectives had to interview him at home."

"Not unusual, after a traumatic experience. But interesting." Batman turned his face to his old friend again and frowned.

"I don't want to state the obvious, but you were hit by the same drug. How have _you_ been feeling?"

"Not unable to go to work, as you can see."

"I suppose not. Well, we'll keep an eye on Billingsley and Davis and keep assuring the public that we're close to an arrest, but it looks like the next move is up to the Scarecrow."

"Yeah, I caught your latest announcement," Batman said with a faint smile. "Very inspiring."

"Hm. His Honor wants to make an appearance tomorrow with me at a press conference. Impress the voters with how much he cares about their safety. Must be why he cut our budget this year."

"Why, Jim, you sound almost cynical."

"I don't _sound_ cynical, I _am_ cynical, when it comes to politicians, even if this one did happen to appoint me."

"I'd call it realism."

"Speaking of realism..." Gordon's voice hesitated before continuing. "I assume you know Selina Kyle was released a few days ago."

"I know. Why?"

"Do you believe she's really reformed?"

Batman looked up to find Gordon watching him again. "That's something only she can answer," he said after a pause. "I hope so. I've tried to help, although that didn't work out very well... But in the end it's really up to her."

"Even if her intentions are good, she may miss the excitement. The thrill. The attention. It's inevitable that she'll be tempted."

Batman glanced at him sharply. "What are you trying to say? Doesn't she deserve the benefit of the doubt, at least?"

"I'm saying her former underworld friends and acquaintances will know she's out, too. It might not hurt to discourage them from contacting her. And find out what she's been doing while you're at it."

The idea of spying on Selina was vaguely disturbing, but he couldn't find any logical reason to disagree. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," he muttered, and turned to the window.

With a quick gesture, he flung it open. A gust of wind fluttered his cape, and he heard a grumble from Gordon as papers blew off the desk. Outside, he shivered, glancing up. It seemed so dark and so silent in the Gotham City night, thin light giving a chilly cast to the almost-empty street below despite the lingering warmth of autumn. Just for a moment he imagined he saw another strange shadow flit over the silvery disk of the full moon, a cloud of small, black bodies sending the echo of shrill cries through the air. Shaking his head, he looked again, and saw only a normal moon set in a normal night sky. Still, it was with an unfamiliar tremor of fear that he set off, leaving the light, warmth, and safety of Gordon's office behind.

- - -

"Is that the place?"

"I guess."

"Think she's really gone straight?"

"I dunno."

"I wonder why she's staying here? Not her usual kind of neighborhood."

"I dunno."

Batman leaned forward a little to see them, careful not to leave the cover of a shadow he was crouched in on a fire escape above the street leading past the hotel where Selina was staying. His eyes moved to the building for a moment. The two small-time crooks he was eavesdropping on were right, it was a small, modest, respectable residential hotel, not the sort of expensive, flashy place she usually went for when she had the money, or the kind of dive she resorted to when she didn't. That was a good sign, probably; here she'd be unlikely to run into her old criminal acquaintances - unless they came looking for her, like the two below.

"Wonder if she'll be glad to see us."

"I dunno."

"Is there anything you _do_ know?"

"I dun-"

"Look! It's her."

Batman's eyes rose from the men he vaguely recognized as former members of one of the Catwoman's recent gangs, and found the slim figure of a woman approaching, walking towards the hotel. Selina. Several questions ran through his mind in quick succession. Had she arranged to meet them? Was she expecting them? Was her reform only an act? Or was she just innocently coming home, had they come after her for reasons of their own, would she be angry... or pleased...?

"Catwoman!" The more intelligent-sounding man called as she seemed about to pass them.

She looked up, obviously startled, and stopped. "Marty! Danny!"

They came a few steps closer. She stood still, her body tense. "Good to see you again," Marty continued. "How you doing?"

"Fine. You two shouldn't have come here."

"You could have gotten in touch. Come by to say hello."

Her head tilted, her voice was a low murmur. "You know I can't afford to be seen with you if I want to keep my parole status."

"Since when have the rules stopped the Catwoman?"

"I'm only Selina Kyle now."

He stepped still closer, facing her. "You? I don't believe it for a second. You're just lying low, aren't you? What's the scam this time?"

"What makes you think there's any scam?"

"We know you-"

No need to listen to any more of this. Batman slipped off the edge of the fire escape, seeing all three jump and turn to stare at him as he landed on the sidewalk with a soft thump. The two men backed off a few steps as he straightened and came closer. Selina stayed where she was, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Ms. Kyle is under my protection," he said softly. "Leave her alone."

"We weren't doing nothin'!" Danny stammered.

"Then go and do it somewhere else."

"We were just talking," Marty said. To Batman's surprise, he sounded defiant.

"Find someone else to talk to." Batman took another step.

"Can't she say hello to a couple of old friends?" He moved back another step and didn't sound quite so confident now.

"Not friends like you. Now, get out of here."

"We got a right to be here--"

"I said get out." Batman dipped a hand into his belt, pulling out the familiar form of a batarang, and raised it, more as a threat than an actual attack. The two men flinched. The light of a street lamp glinted from the dark metallic surface of the batarang, attracting his eyes to it. He saw its outline, saw it seem to move in his fingers, to become a small black creature, wings stretched out, struggling in his grasp...

With an incoherent cry he dropped it, shrinking back as a wave of intense, unreasoning, irresistible terror and revulsion swept through him, leaving only the almost overwhelming impulse to get away from the object that fell to the pavement with a faint clink. He staggered back as it only lay there, inert, and the fear receded as quickly as it had come, leaving him shocked and gasping for breath.

"What's wrong with you?" It was Selina's voice, pulling him back to his surroundings and the three people staring at him.

"A bat - it was a bat..." He realized abruptly that he was shaking in fear of one of his own batarangs, and tried to get himself under some kind of control. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Selina turned on her two former gang members. "I can handle the Batman," she hissed. "Do what he said. Get out!" Without another word, they fled. She watched them go before turning to face him again, studying him with just a hint of curiosity as he again calmed himself with an effort. "What happened?" she asked after a few moments.

"Nothing. The batarang slipped out of my hand, that's all."

"Uh-huh." Her tone was skeptical, but to his relief she dropped it. "You've been watching me, haven't you? Hanging around here. Have you been following me too?"

"I'm concerned."

"Don't be." She crossed her arms. "You should know by now I can take care of myself."

"I hope so."

"Trust me." She frowned. "And stop lurking around like this. It's annoying. People might think you expect me to go back to my life of crime."

"Selina..." He searched for the right words, and had to settle for the simple question. "Is Catwoman really gone?"

"I've said so, haven't I?"

"Good. I hope you keep it that way. It's nothing but a dead end for you."

"Why, you sound almost as if you care."

"I do care." Her eyes widened slightly, and then glinted green as he went on. "If you go back to the wrong side of the law, we'll be enemies again. I don't want that to happen. But if it does, I'll be ready."

"How sweet." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Good night, Selina."

As he began to turn away, she bent quickly to the sidewalk, and came up with his batarang in her hand. "Here," she said, holding it out. "You forgot this."

"I..." He hesitated, repelled by the thought of touching it, even the sight of that bat-like shape making his stomach clench in mingled fear and disgust. "I don't want it."

"You don't want it?"

"Keep it. As - as a reminder." Before she could say anything more, he moved away and leaped for the fire escape, quickly climbing to the roof where he spared only a second for a glance back at her, still standing there with her eyes turned up to him.

- - -

Dick flipped on the television and flopped back on the slightly lumpy bed in his motel room, closing his eyes, wondering whether it was worth it to go out as Nightwing or just stay in. It was late - but Blüdhaven had an active night life. Besides, there was nothing to do here, just sit around in this dingy place. He wasn't sleepy, not yet, and probably wouldn't be until dawn.

_Man, I'm turning nocturnal, just like Bruce..._ He smiled a little at the thought. If he got a job here, he might have to change his habits... could get a night job, but that would interfere with Nightwing... no, the best thing was a day job, part time if he could live on the salary, maybe something with flexible hours... It hadn't been so much of a problem when he worked at Wayne Enterprises... Wouldn't be a problem at all if he had Bruce's kind of money...

And that reminded him that he had a decision to make. The week he had paid for in this motel was almost up. In another day or two he'd have to make up his mind whether to stay, which meant looking for work and a more permanent place to live, or - if it would be better to just move on.

Opening his eyes, he stared up at the cracked ceiling, again wondering why he had come here in the first place. It wasn't like there was anything special about this city, except its unusually high crime rate. There was nothing to hold him here, nothing to stay for. Being so close to Gotham was starting to make him uncomfortable. He half-expected to find Batman, or Bruce, waiting for him every time he walked in the door, and had no idea if he'd be happy about that or angry.

"_There is still no sign of the Scarecrow, who has seemingly disappeared after his attacks on two prominent Gotham City citizens."_

Dick rolled onto an elbow, looking up at the television as the words caught his attention.

"_Tomorrow evening Mayor Drexel and Gotham City Police Commissioner James Gordon are expected to announce the formation of a special task force to find the Scarecrow, whose real identity is Professor Jonathan Crane, formerly of Gotham State University."_

The picture of a very thin, rather strange-looking man with a bony, hawk-like face appeared, squinting at the camera through thick round glasses. While Dick had never come up against the Scarecrow himself, he had studied his history as part of his training. Jonathan Crane had been a brilliant college professor, researching the biology of fear. He had also been something of a social outcast, because of both his appearance and his rough manners. Maybe that was why he had turned to crime after he had discovered a drug that could allow him to use fear as a weapon.

"_Reliable sources within the Gotham Police Department have reported that Batman himself was also a victim several days ago, although this has not been confirmed. All the recent victims appear to have recovered fully, and the purpose of these fear attacks remains a mystery..."_

Dick frowned as the news commentator moved on to another story. The Scarecrow, and his fear gas. Had he really gotten Batman? It seemed likely enough, and he knew there were Gotham cops who talked to the news media, so the report was probably accurate - as far as it went. He could go. Offer to help. And then what? Have Bruce try to make him quit again, or just tell him he wasn't needed? No, Batman could certainly handle this, and he'd certainly never admit it if he couldn't.

Why look for excuses to go back? Whatever future he had, sooner or later he'd have to face the fact that it was unlikely to be in Gotham City. Which meant there was no reason to hang around here. Enough was enough. At the end of the week he'd pack his things once more, choose a city somewhere at random, as long as it was far away, and go.

- - -

"If I may say so, sir, you look rather under the weather."

"Just tired." As he pulled his cowl off and handed it to Alfred to put away, Bruce admitted to himself that he felt exhausted, more tired than normal after a night out as the Batman. He hadn't done anything really unusual tonight. No, that wasn't true, and he might as well face it. That - whatever it had been - with the batarang had been unusual. He still wasn't sure what had happened. A trick of the light, a moment of imagination? But it had been more than just the illusion of a bat appearing in his hand, it had been that overwhelming sensation of fear, so strong there had been no way to fight it.

"Are you quite sure you're all right?"

Bruce realized he was just standing there, staring into the shadows of the Batcave. "I'm fine," he said, and started to unfasten his cape.

There was no avoiding the conclusion that it had something to do with the Scarecrow's fear drug. An after-effect, it must be. That hallucination had been so powerful it had left him with some kind of post-traumatic stress, enough to give him a flashback tonight. Just a momentary hallucination of a bat in his hand, and that had brought back the fear he had felt in the dream. But maybe it was good that this had happened; now that he knew what was going on, he could fight it. He was no stranger to fear; he knew how to control and overcome it, and how to use it to his advantage.

Automatically, he glanced in the mirror as Alfred turned to hang up the cape, seeing the black and deep gray of the Batman costume, the face of Bruce Wayne above it - and the stylized bat emblem on his chest. A bat again... He tried to look away, to ignore it, but it seemed to draw his eyes back in fascinated horror, as if it would come to life and start moving.

"Sir, is something wrong? What is it?"

He hesitated, telling himself how silly it was to be afraid of a shape, of a piece of cloth, of the symbol he had taken to frighten others, but it was no good. The shadow of that remembered terror sent ice water through his veins as he reached for his chest, and in a convulsive movement ripped the emblem off and threw it as far away as he could, then turned his back on Alfred's anxious, questioning face.

- - -

TBC...


	4. Wings

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Wings

- - -

It was a beautiful sight, the skyline of Gotham City rising in graceful lines against a sky filled with looming clouds tinted with the colors of sunset. The breeze was strong up here on a rooftop overlooking Police Plaza, strong enough to send a stray scrap of paper flying by his head, and to lift his cape and set it fluttering like wings. With a frown Batman pulled it in and wrapped the cloth around himself, for a moment letting his fingers brush over his chest, still bare of his usual bat emblem.

Last night he had tried to tell himself that all he really needed was a good night's sleep, that it must be only exhaustion that was making him jumpy and causing this ridiculous reaction to his own batarang and bat emblem. Nothing a good dose of rest wouldn't fix. But things hadn't quite worked out that way. Sleep had turned to nightmare, sending him back into that dark space, walking alone into an alleyway echoing with gunfire, this time catching just a glimpse of two shadowed forms lying motionless before he woke, heart pounding.

Bruce was no fool, nor did he make a habit of self-deception; he knew what image the dream was hiding from him. The same image he had seen as a young child, and again in dreams before this, horrifying to be sure but nothing he hadn't lived with for most of his life. And yet, somehow it was different this time, the nightmare quality was intensified, as if something even more terrible lurked in those shadows.

Shaking his head, he looked down again, trying to concentrate on the business at hand. The reporters were all set up, their microphones ready and waiting, clustered around an empty podium at the foot of the steps leading into Gotham Police Headquarters. The buzz of their voices rose faintly to his ears. In a few minutes Gordon and the mayor would appear, and the press conference would begin.

There was no real reason for him to be watching like this from a rooftop, Batman told himself again. He'd have an easier time hearing what was said if he was back home watching on television. Still, a combination of restlessness and uneasiness had brought him. The Scarecrow had attacked two other prominent citizens recently; what better target than the mayor himself? Of course, no real reason to think he'd strike now, and he'd be crazy to do it in public like this, right in front of police HQ - but then, no one could accuse the Scarecrow of having more than a nodding acquaintance with sanity.

They were coming. A small group of people emerged from the building and started down the stairs. In the middle was a hard-faced, stocky man, smiling and waving at the crowd below. The mayor. Next to him Batman recognized Gordon, a frown firmly in place on his face. A flash of red hair behind them was his daughter, Barbara Gordon. Unusual for her to be involved in these official appearances, but perhaps she had simply been here to see her father.

They descended to the podium, where after a little shuffling for position Mayor Hull stepped up to the microphones and cleared his throat. A hush fell over the crowd, broken only by the sounds of traffic on the street around the plaza, and then the mayor's amplified voice rang out, loud enough for his words to be clear as they reached Batman's lofty perch.

"As all of you know, one of Gotham City's most dangerous and notorious criminals, the Scarecrow, recently escaped from Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane and has since then committed a series of vicious robberies and attacks on our fellow citizens. I want to give each and every one of you my personal assurance that everything possible is being done to protect your safety and that of your loved ones."

Batman tuned him out for the next few sentences. It would be just the usual, anyway. He scanned the crowd, looking for anyone who seemed out of place, or was moving too quickly, or holding anything strange.

"Now we'll have a brief statement from Police Commissioner Gordon, and then questions..."

Hull moved back; Gordon stepped up with a scowl and hesitated, facing up, almost as if he was looking for the watcher high above.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of Batman's eye. As he shifted his gaze it became a small, silvery metallic object, a ball, falling in a long and lazy arc from a nearby rooftop towards the plaza and the crowd of people it held. Batman sprang to his feet, a warning on his lips, but it was both unnecessary and too late; a wave of movement ran through the crowd as the object fell among them. A circle formed and widened like a human splash as they tried to get away from the point where it hit the ground. But instead of the flash of an explosion Batman had instinctively expected, a small cloud of smoky dust puffed out.

"Get back..." he said, half to himself, but again it was unnecessary. People were falling over each other to get away. There were screams and shouts. Those closest to where the object had fallen seemed to panic, running into the others, mindlessly attacking anyone who got in their way. Chaos erupted as they became a surging mob, struggling over pavement littered with fallen cameras and microphones, fighting each other, trying to escape. The group of police around Gordon and the mayor's bodyguards had fallen back, a few apparently panicking and simply running, the others trying to clear a path through the confusion.

Automatically Batman reached for his rope, knowing there was no way he could get there in time to make much difference. As he looked for the fastest way down he saw a man dash from the edge of the crowd, straight at the mayor, what might be a large gun in his hand. Hull froze. The two bodyguards still with him were trying to find a way out and looking the other way.

Gordon was closest - he jumped between Hull and his attacker as the gun came up and fired. Even as Batman drew in a shocked breath to cry out, he realized it wasn't a normal gun; a barely visible spray shot from it and hit Gordon. He staggered back, hands over his face.

Help came from an unexpected source; a blur of red hair as Barbara's slim figure leaped past her father and flew vengefully at the man with the gun. She ducked under the weapon and chopped up with the side of her arm, catching his wrist and knocking it upwards. Then she side-kicked him in the stomach. As he doubled over, without a pause she turned into a spin and swept another kick into his head. He dropped as Batman blinked in surprise.

Police were pouring from the building; the mayor's bodyguards had gotten him away; Barbara was bending over her father; the mob was scattering. The whole thing had taken maybe thirty seconds. Batman looked up. Not much he could do down there, but up here... That silver ball of fear gas had come from not far away. He saw movement again: someone on a rooftop a level below where he was standing, on the building next to his. Three men, he saw as he came closer to the edge, two ordinary-looking, the third in the Scarecrow's dull brown rags and hood.

- - -

Dick sat in electrified tension, leaning closer to the small television in his motel room. He had been only half listening to the speech, trying to catch a glimpse of Barbara's face as she stood in the group behind her father and the mayor, when all hell had broken loose. The camera had first jerked into the air and then spun around to show the crowd of reporters turning into a panic-stricken mob, accompanied by incoherent shouts from the field reporter. A man had run forward, tried to shoot the mayor, and gotten Gordon instead with some kind of gas gun. To Dick's amazement, Barbara had taken him out with a couple of very competent moves.

Now... he watched anxiously. Gordon hadn't looked good. He had gotten whatever had been intended for Mayor Hull, that new type of fear gas, probably. But now the scene was changing again, switching to a higher viewpoint, probably a camera on a crane meant to show the press conference from above. It spun dizzyingly, searching, as the reporter shouted something about the rooftops, and zoomed in on the top of one of the surrounding buildings. As the picture came into focus, Dick immediately recognized what they were seeing.

Batman was on the edge of the roof, throwing a rope to wrap around an antenna fastened to the top of a tower on the next building, then taking a running start and swinging into the air. It was obvious what he was after; three men, one in dark rags and a loose hood, were visible on the roof he was about to land on.

- - -

Batman rolled with the impact of landing and was back on his feet in an instant, seeing the Scarecrow and his men react as they saw him, backing towards a shed on the side of the roof with a door that probably led to a stairway down. The two hoods were reaching into their pockets but Batman was ready, his fingers dipping into his utility belt. After the disaster with the batarang he had replaced them with ordinary throwing stars. Now, a quick flip of the wrist and he sent one flying. Another throw and both men were cursing, clutching their injured hands, their guns lying useless on the rooftop.

The Scarecrow seemed undisturbed. Impossible to see an expression under that hood, of course, but he was casually holding a cardboard box, perhaps a foot around, and standing calmly and apparently quite relaxed.

"Ready to give up?" Batman called.

"No. Why should I?"

"The police will be here in a couple of minutes. I'm not about to let you get away. And don't bother trying one of your gas attacks." He pulled a small respirator from his belt and held it up. "I'm ready this time."

"No more gas, I promise." The Scarecrow still just stood there. His men stepped beside and behind him, making no effort to pick up their guns.

"What's in the box?" Batman asked.

"A surprise."

"Put it down and step away."

"Put it down? Are you sure?"

"_What's in it?_" Batman took a step closer, eying them uncertainly. It couldn't be a bomb; not the Scarecrow's style, besides he wouldn't blow himself up. Not gas... what?

"Well, if you insist on knowing..." With a quick gesture, the Scarecrow gripped the lid and yanked it off, letting the rest of the box fall. He backed away, a thin chuckle coming from behind his featureless hood.

But Batman was no longer paying attention to his enemy. He stared, feeling an icy wash of terror through his gut as a small black form appeared from inside, fluttering for a moment as it took to the air, then coming at him.

"_Nooo!_" he screamed, cowering back. The bat lifted a little higher, sailing over his head and circling. It was coming back... it would fly right at him, attack him, _touch_ him; he'd feel those leathery wings, and hear its shrill cries, and feel its tiny claws...

A fear and horror like nothing he had ever even imagined gripped him, blanking his mind into nothing but an overwhelming need to get away, only to get as far from that _thing_ as he possibly could, to go where it couldn't come near him, where he wouldn't have to see it or hear it ever again. Blinded to anything else, he backed up, stumbled, took another couple of steps, felt a sharp edge against the backs of his knees, and unthinkingly kept moving.

- - -

"No! What are you doing?" Dick was on his feet, fists clenched, hardly aware that he had shouted aloud at the image on his television. The picture shook, wavered, the extreme zoom magnifying every movement, but what was happening was horrifyingly clear. Batman was acting as if he was terrified of something that had flown out of that box - he had reached the edge of the roof, hit the low wall, and toppled over.

- - -

Falling... He was falling, Batman realized, the instinctive fear of certain death freeing him from his unreasoning terror long enough to act. Automatically his fingers found a spare rope in his belt, his hands uncoiled it, his arm threw it as his eyes caught the first object that might slow his fall. The line wrapped around the base of a flagpole below and to the side. He braced himself and held on, the rope almost jerking out of his grip, swinging under the pole, letting go to land jarringly but accurately on a narrow balcony.

When he looked up, there was no sign of the Scarecrow, only a news helicopter swooping between the buildings, a camera swiveling to aim at him, the shouts of police, reporters, and bystanders from the street below... and the tiny black form of a bat, now high above, silhouetted against the fading dusky sky.

- - -

"Dirty - my hands are dirty..."

Barbara looked down at him again. She tried not to let her voice shake as she answered, but it wasn't easy after first the near-riot all around them, then the attack on them and her own fight with the assailant, finding her father huddled on the ground moaning, and then watching the struggle above ending with Batman's narrow escape from death. Now - this was the first coherent thing her father had said since that spray had hit him.

"Dad? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He sat up, head bent, staring down at his hands as if they had become something strange and foreign. "Dirty..." he repeated.

"Just hang on, there'll be an ambulance here in a couple of minutes, you'll be okay."

"No - I'm fine." To her relief, he looked up, his voice steady and expression rational. "Got a little of that fear gas, but I'm fine now."

"Are you sure?" She got to her feet and helped him stand.

"Yes. I have to take care of things here." He raised his head and looked around them. "What a mess. Have to straighten it out."

"Dad, I think you should see a doctor first."

"No. First..." he raised his hands again. "First I need to wash up. My hands are dirty." As she watched in surprise, he turned away and headed up the stairs.

She could hardly order her own father to go to a doctor or the hospital, but something was wrong, she could see that clearly. Not much chance she'd persuade him, but she had to try. Confused, disconcerted, she hurried to follow him.

- - -

"Alfred?" Dick closed his eyes. He had known Bruce wouldn't be home to pick up the phone. He had hoped Alfred would be there, and not just an answering machine. He had expected to hear that familiar voice with its cultured British accent overlying hints of Cockney, and yet it brought on such a sensation of what he could only describe as homesickness that for a moment his throat closed.

There was a hesitation, and then, "_Is it... Is it Mr. Grayson?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"_Oh, thank God."_

Dick had imagined many reactions, but this was not one of them. He frowned. "Alfred - were you watching-"

"_Yes. You saw that then?"_

"I sure did. What the hell happened?"

"_I have no idea, sir. Or - well, there have been some indications - but I don't know what to think..."_

"What's been going on?"

"_Well..."_ Alfred's voice dropped, as if he thought they might be overheard. "_Master Bruce has not been himself since he was - attacked by a certain person, if you know what I'm referring to."_

"Yeah, I think I know." The Scarecrow's fear gas attack on Batman must be what he was talking about.

"_Good. Since then he's been acting very oddly. Not using some of his usual implements. He's even..."_ Alfred's voice lowered even more, "_removed a certain object from his - er - work clothes. If you know what I mean."_

"Not really," Dick said. "But never mind, I get the general idea."

"_He won't admit anything's wrong. You know how he is."_

"Yeah, I know how he is."

"_I knew something's not right... And then what we both saw just now on the telly... I don't know what's wrong, Mr. Grayson, but something most certainly is."_ Alfred took a breath. "_Master Bruce needs help, beyond what I can give."_

"Me? What can I do that you can't?"

"_Find out what's causing this. Help him fight it."_

"I'm not his partner anymore. He probably doesn't want me butting in."

"_Then you must convince him."_

Dick snorted. "Sure. That'll be easy."

"_He respects you more than you realize."_

"I dunno about that. Besides, I don't even live in Gotham anymore." And yet, he was already looking at the clock, and estimating what time he would be likely to arrive.

There was another pause. "_I understand. You have your own life now,"_ Alfred said, his voice resigned. "_I quite forgot to ask how you've been. We've heard news of you, of course, but that's not the same as a call or a letter."_

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I've been fine. Done a lot of traveling. Even went back to the circus for a while."

"_I hope you've been well. And not - in need of funds?"_

"I'm doing okay." Dick glanced at the clock. "Well, I'd better get going."

"_I see. I imagine you are quite busy."_

"Yeah. It'll take me a couple of hours to get there, so I guess I'll see you then."

There was another pause, but Alfred didn't even sound surprised when he answered. "_I was sure we could count on you,"_ he said primly. "_Master Bruce does not choose his allies lightly."_

Touched, Dick smiled. "Thanks, Alf." He hesitated, the smile fading. "Um... Do you think Bruce will be glad to see me?"

"_Of course he will, sir. Do you doubt it?"_

"If you say so."

Dick said goodbye and hung up. A few minutes later he was on his motorcycle, the wind in his face as he headed to the highway leading to Gotham, back to the man who had inspired him, after whom he had patterned a good part of his identity, and who had been the one to push him out those two long years ago.

Alfred's words were reassuring. '_Do you doubt it?'_ But he did. Would Bruce welcome him? Thank him for coming? Be glad of his help? Or was it more likely that he would only want to be left alone, without interference from someone who was no longer any part of his life?

- - -

TBC...


	5. Encounter

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Encounter

- - -

It was full night when Dick reached the top of the last hill and stopped at the side of the highway, looking down. Only a few more long suburban blocks, and he would be there. The turnoff to the road leading past the enclosing low wall and onto the estate was visible, as were the lights of the house itself through the trees that protected it from inquisitive eyes. In a few minutes he could be ringing the bell, waiting for the door to open, greeting Alfred and wondering what he would see on Bruce's face.

As he was hesitating, asking himself what he was waiting for, ashamed at how tempting the thought of just turning around and going back was, a movement caught his eye. He watched as the Batmobile passed on the cross street, continuing in the direction he knew led to a certain narrow lane, and then to the hidden door in what appeared to be the side of a steep hill which could only be opened by an electronic key. Bruce had given one to Dick when they had started working together, and he still carried it, even after all this time.

He reached for it, still safe inside an inner pocket of his jacket. Bruce might have changed the signal combination by now. Probably had, it would be the smart thing to do and Bruce was nothing if not smart. Still - he felt the urge to try it, to face Bruce in the cave, before seeing Alfred or walking into the house. Better to get it over with, settle it, just between the two of them.

- - -

Batman climbed out of the Batmobile and crossed the floor of the Batcave. He kept his gaze down, deliberately avoiding the mirror and the bat-like reflection he knew he would find there. As fast as he could, he pulled the cowl and cape off and threw them on the floor, not quite suppressing a shudder.

Thankful that Alfred was not there to see him and ask questions he didn't want to answer, he sagged into a chair and lowered his face into his hands. Tonight had proved that something was drastically wrong. Afterwards, he had tried to hide in his usual routine, patrolling the city, trying to deny the way the Batmobile had come to look like a giant, predatory monster to him, fearing every shadow that might hold a small, dark, leather-winged creature to dart out at him. He was lucky that nothing had happened.

No - nothing had happened on the street - but here and now... He heard it coming, an engine, the sound of a motorcycle approaching where no vehicle other than the Batmobile belonged. Senses suddenly alert, Bruce glanced at his cowl and instantly discarded the idea. Beyond the loathing he felt at the idea of putting it on, there seemed to be no point. Whoever was coming must already have a good idea of who he really was.

Silently, he rose to his feet, flipped a switch to dim the lights, and melted into the darker shadows of the cave.

- - -

Dick parked, stopped the motor, and sat there for a moment. No sign of life. The lights were dimmed as if no one was here. He dismounted, still looking around nervously. There hadn't been time for Bruce to change clothes, make his usual notes on the night's activities, and go upstairs. No, either something was wrong, or - he was still here.

Cautiously, Dick removed his helmet and hung it on the handlebars. He scanned the shadows again. Nothing. Squaring his shoulders, he moved a few steps into the main part of the cave and stopped again, looking around. The silence was getting to him; he was starting to imagine he could hear someone breathing. Couldn't see much of anything in this dark, of course.

He was wondering whether to turn the lights on, call out, or both; when his eyes fell on a display case near the cave wall. It was over six feet high, a couple of feet on a side, made of clear glass or plastic, and close enough that he could clearly see what was in it even in the dim lighting. And what was in it... was a costume, hung on a wireframe mannequin, black with a V of midnight blue across the chest, and thick-cuffed gloves and boots. _His own_ costume. One of his spares, which he had kept here and hadn't taken with him.

He moved closer, raising a hand to rest the fingertips against the cool, flat surface, staring at it in puzzled surprise. Bruce had demanded he give up his career as Nightwing, and had thrown him out when he refused. Then why keep his costume, and why display it when it must be an unpleasant reminder...?

It was only a reflection that caught his eye, the hint of movement behind him, of a form at his back. Dick whirled, heart leaping into his throat as he found himself face to face with Bruce, a Bruce who looked pale, tired, shaken, but was still unmistakably the man he had both wanted and feared to confront for the last two years.

- - -

Bruce didn't quite believe it was really him until Dick's eyes were looking into his, wide with surprise and alarm. They stared at each other for a few tense moments. Finally Bruce tried to speak, found his throat had dried into uselessness, swallowed and tried again. This time he managed a surprisingly calm tone.

"Dick?"

"Bruce." Another couple of seconds of staring, until Dick's mouth quirked into an ironic half-smile. "Well, aren't you going to say anything else? 'Hi, how are you?' 'What's new?' Or maybe 'Get the hell out of here?'"

"Sorry, I didn't prepare a speech." Bruce took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, that's not what I meant... You took me by surprise. I - it's - it's good to see you."

Dick's expression warmed just a touch. "Good to see you too," he said.

"Don't take offense, but - what are you doing here?" Bruce moved to the light switch and flipped it. They exchanged another cautious stare. His first impression was that Dick looked different. Older, or rather more mature. His face seemed more handsome than boyish now, his eyes sharper; his body was both thinner and more muscular. He seemed pared down to essentials, whatever had been unnecessary now gone - things like youth, softness, humor and vulnerability. With a stab of guilt Bruce wondered how much of that change he was responsible for.

"I watch TV, Bruce. Specifically the press conference tonight." Dick waited as Bruce said nothing. "What happened up there?"

"Nothing. I slipped."

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"I said bullshit. Maybe you can pass off an excuse like that on Alfred, but it won't work with me." He returned Bruce's glare. "And maybe you can shut him up with the kind of look you've got on your face right now, but that won't work on me either. You didn't slip; you were trying to get away from something, something so bad that when you hit the edge of the roof you just kept on going."

"It's really not your concern."

"What was it? The Scarecrow? Did he have some kind of weapon you don't want to talk about?"

"I can handle it."

"Yeah, if you'd handled it any better tonight, you'd be splattered all over the sidewalk right now."

"But I'm not, am I?" Bruce sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, I appreciate it that you're here, but there's nothing you can do. This is something I have to face on my own."

"That's bullshit, too." Dick's voice was quiet now, despite the words. "You may be a stubborn, thick-headed pain in the ass, but you've helped me out a few times in the past, remember? Whatever is going on, you don't have to go through it alone. In fact, I'm not going to let you." Bruce looked up, to see a faint smile with a hint of defiance.

"You don't have to do this."

"I don't have to, but I will. You might as well just give up on stopping me."

It was tempting, but Bruce knew it wouldn't be fair to saddle his former partner with his own problems, especially after all that had happened between them. No, Dick was just being what he had always been, a nice kid, trying to do the right thing, still feeling a loyalty that should have disappeared that night two years ago. He deserved better than to have whatever life he had made for himself disrupted because of something that wasn't, that shouldn't be, his problem.

"Look..." Bruce hesitated, but it had to be said. "We're not partners anymore. We haven't even seen each other for two years. Whatever obligation you think you have, forget it. You don't owe me anything."

Dick's smile had faded. "You think the only reason I'm here is that I feel - obligated?"

"It's true, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily." Dick's expression was unreadable now. "Not everything's always about you, you know. Maybe I've simply decided to come back. Gotham was my home too, remember? Now the city's under attack by the Scarecrow, and I want to stop him as much as you do. I'm working on this case, with you or without you. Take your pick."

- - -

"Barbara, what is it?"

She straightened, and faced him as he stared from the other end of the entrance hallway in their house, feeling a moment of angry frustration. It had taken her a couple of hours to persuade her father to go to bed and to feel as if she could get a little sleep herself, and now the sound of the doorbell had gotten them both up.

"This." Barbara held up the envelope she had found pushed under the door. "No one there, but they left this. It's got your name on it."

"Let me see." Gordon reached out, hesitating for a moment before taking it. "Seems to be just paper inside..." he said, and carried it to a side table, found a letter opener, and slit it open. As she watched, again he paused before using the tip of the letter opener to pull out the single sheet of paper inside and spread it open on the surface.

"Dad?" she asked as he quickly scanned it, his brows contracting.

"Nothing. It's nothing to concern you. Forget it. I... Just go back to bed." He used the letter opener again to push the piece of paper over the edge of the table into the trash basket below. She barely caught his mutter of, "I have to wash my hands..." before he headed in the direction of his bedroom.

As soon as he was around the corner, she quickly bent to retrieve the note. It was short, and to the point. She read it three times, heart beginning to pound, before her fingers curled and crushed it into a ball as her eyes turned in the direction of her father's room.

- - -

"Alfie! Man, it's great to see you!" Dick threw his arms around the elderly butler, grinning as Alfred's expression struggled between happiness and self-consciousness.

"It's a pleasure to see you too, young master."

Dick grinned again at the title he'd just been given. Alfred's way of teasing, of course. "Gee, thanks. How the hell have you been?"

"Quite well, considering."

"A few more gray hairs, I see."

"I've earned each and every one," Alfred said in a dignified tone, and scanned him up and down critically. "You've lost weight."

"I haven't been eating your cooking." Dick's eyes followed Bruce, who had come into the kitchen behind him and now was quietly sitting down at the table, not quite looking at them.

"We will have to rectify that situation at once," Alfred was saying. "I'll fetch something now, if you'll take a seat."

"Hey, I never turn down a free meal." He also sat at the small breakfast table, aware of Alfred bustling around on the other side of the room, and trying not to be obvious as he took a closer look at Bruce.

In this familiar setting Dick noticed the changes in his former partner and mentor more strongly - new lines of worry and tension around his eyes and mouth, the tired look of someone who rarely gets enough sleep. But there was more. It was very subtle, but Bruce seemed to have lost something - that air of confidence, that quiet but overpowering self-assurance that had always made him seem so invincible. Now, Dick was reminded forcefully that the man he was looking at was only that - a mortal man.

Dick pulled his mind back to the business he was there for. "Have you contacted Commissioner Gordon?" he asked. "Is he okay?"

Bruce frowned. "I tried calling while I was on patrol. He refused to go to the hospital. Insisted he's all right."

"How _very_ foolish of him. Rather reminds me of someone else I know," Alfred muttered as he set down plates for them.

Dick suppressed a smile. "I'm sure he's okay. Barbara's with him, isn't she?"

"Still, he was probably hit with the same thing I was. He may not realize..." Bruce trailed off.

"Not realize what?"

Bruce met his eyes and seemed to come to a decision. "What kind of effect it could have on him. He may not even feel it yet. But it'll get worse."

"Because - you think it's the same thing that's happened to you?"

Bruce looked up as Alfred put a basket of bread and two bowls of soup down. "Yes. The same thing that happened to me." He took a deep breath. "When I was sprayed with the fear dust, I had - an hallucination. A dream. Whatever you want to call it. Very vivid. It was - as terrifying as any nightmare. Lasted only a few minutes, I think, but long enough for the Scarecrow to get away. I thought at the time that was all it was, just a weapon to disable me temporarily."

"What was the dream about?"

"I - That's not important." Bruce's eyes slid away from his. "The only part that matters is that there were bats in it. They were - attacking me."

"Bats?"

"Yes. I woke up, and thought I was fine. But that was only the beginning."

"The beginning?" Dick prompted again, when Bruce fell silent.

"It's sort of ironic, when you think about it," Bruce said, so quietly that Alfred abandoned all pretext of not listening and bent closer. "The fear gas gave me some kind of artificial phobia. It's made me afraid of bats."

The idea seemed so absurd that Dick was almost tempted to laugh. Bruce, who never seemed afraid of anything, now afraid of his own symbol, the very thing he had used to frighten criminals over the years? But - he remembered what he had seen on television only hours ago; Batman retreating in so much terror that he had gone over the edge of that roof and almost been killed...

"That was a bat the Scarecrow had in that box tonight, wasn't it?" he exclaimed.

"Yes, it was."

"He used it to - to scare you off?"

"Yes."

"And he'll do it again."

"Yes. There's also every chance that he'll spread it around the underworld." Bruce's eyes lifted to his. "I have to beat this thing. Quickly."

Dick didn't say the obvious, that this could mean the end of Batman's career. He could see in Bruce's face that he realized that all too well. It was more than the danger involved, he could see that too. Bruce had already removed the bat emblem from his chest. How long before he couldn't bring himself to put on the costume at all? How long before he would be forced to abandon the identity he had created, give up the reputation he had spent years on building?

"What's our plan?" he asked. "Any ideas so far?"

Bruce frowned at him. "No plan yet. The police told me the man who attacked Gordon seems to have been hired just for the occasion, and doesn't know anything. I need some way to find the Scarecrow, and find out what that fear drug did to me."

"Not just you. Besides Gordon, he used it on two more people, a businessman and the new DA, didn't he? Maybe it had the same effect?"

"Could be." Bruce's eyes sharpened with interest, losing some of their tired look. "Fear of bats? Or some other phobia? And - he tried to do it to the mayor too."

"All rich, powerful people."

"Yes..." Bruce's expression was thoughtful. "And if the Scarecrow has a hold over them... I wonder if he's after their power or their money. Or both."

"Who knows, with a nutcase like him?" Dick smiled, and then surprised himself with an earsplitting yawn. "Sorry, been a long night," he added. "I really should get going while I'm still awake. Gotta get back to Blüdhaven."

"You can stay here tonight," Alfred said promptly, with a mildly defiant look at his employer.

"Well, thanks, but I'd rather go back. I'll have to check out of my motel tomorrow morning and look for something here. Besides, I don't want to impose - and I'm kinda used to being on my own, you know."

"We understand," Bruce said, with a look at Alfred when he seemed about to argue. "Still, if you're going to be spending time here in Gotham, you might as well be more comfortable than you'd be in a hotel room." He got up, disappeared in the direction of his study, and returned as Alfred and Dick were exchanging puzzled looks. "Here," he said, holding out his hand.

"Keys?" Dick took them. "What are these for?"

"Don't you recognize them? They're the keys to your apartment."

"What, my old apartment? But I gave that up two years ago, when I left town."

"Yeah, well." Bruce looked, strangely, almost embarrassed. "I figured it might be handy to have someplace to use when I'm in that part of town. So - I've been paying the rent on it."

"For all this time?" Dick stared at him, not sure whether he was pleased, touched, confused, or all of the above.

"Yeah. No big deal. Anyway, you can stay there as long as you want." Bruce met his gaze steadily, as if defying him to make anything out of it.

And Dick found he didn't need to. The fact that Bruce had kept his apartment, along with the almost equally surprising fact that he hadn't changed the electronic key code to the Batcave... He found himself smiling as he pocketed the keys and got to his feet.

A few minutes later, after saying goodbye to Alfred, he was outside under the starry night sky again. Bruce, somehow looking less tired now than he had an hour ago, had walked him out. They were both silent as Dick led the way to his motorcycle and picked up his helmet.

"We should talk to the other people the Scarecrow attacked," Dick said.

"Avery Billingsley, the executive, and Marian Davis, the new district attorney. And don't forget the guard from Apex Chemicals who was drugged at the same time I was."

"It would be faster to split them up. You take the VP and the DA. I'll take the guard and Commissioner Gordon."

"Okay," Bruce said, giving him a curious look. If he wondered why Dick had chosen Gordon for himself, he didn't ask. Or probably he had already guessed that the one Dick really wanted to see was not James Gordon, but his daughter. "Well..."

"Goodnight. See you tomorrow." Dick hesitated, and then held out his hand.

"Goodnight." The hand that shook his was as firm and strong as he remembered.

Dick started the engine of his motorcycle and started away. He got to the end of the long driveway and the turn onto the street before he looked back, and saw a square of warm light framing Bruce's shadow as he stood in the doorway, still watching.

- - -

TBC...


	6. Nightmares

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Nightmares

- - -

"Do you know anything about what's happened to me?"

Nightwing turned away from his survey of the shuttered windows and closed door as he stood in a small but neat living room in this small but well-kept house in the suburbs of Gotham, and faced Arnold Tyrell, the guard who had been unlucky enough to get in the Scarecrow's way at Apex Chemicals, and his wife, Patrice. "I know that you're not the only one," he said. "And that Batman and I are doing our best to find out more."

"How can I help?"

He settled onto the couch and put a smile on his face. "Just tell me as much as you can remember about what happened that night, and since then."

"Okay." Tyrell was a big man; it seemed odd to see his hands trembling slightly as he clasped them. "It was just a regular night, you know? I was maybe halfway through my patrol, when I heard one of the inner alarms go off. Don't know how they got into the building, but there they were," he shook his head, "inside the main storage rooms. I heard them talking, and saw a flashlight. Got my gun out and tried to sneak in before they saw me. I knew the cops would be there any minute, but I wanted to make sure they didn't get away."

"But I guess they spotted you."

"Yeah. One of them saw me, and yelled. I went by the book, told them to freeze. And then... I saw him." Wide eyes met Nightwing's as Tyrell's wife reached to gently rub her husband's shoulder. "The Scarecrow. He was behind me, with that - that bag over his head, and a strange-looking gun in his hand. He laughed. I thought he had shot me, but it didn't hurt; I just felt sort of a spray of dust or powder."

"Then what happened?"

"It was like I was suddenly somewhere else. Like a nightmare."

Nightwing leaned forward. "What was it?"

"It was - it was..."

"Arnie doesn't like to talk about it," Patrice said gently as her husband struggled to continue. "But with all the times in the last week I've heard him yelling in his sleep, and seen him wake up scared to death..."

"It really could help if you'd tell me as much as you can, Mr. Tyrell."

"Okay, if you say so." He took a deep breath. "I was in some kind of desert. Sand, and rocks, and a few dead trees and bushes. No grass. Just flat, rocky ground, everywhere I looked, to the horizon. It was night, but there was a lot of light from the stars, I guess. No wind, no birds, no sound. Just emptiness. I started walking, looking for landmarks, or a road, or a house. But there was nothing. It felt like hours I kept going, not seeing anything or anyone. I started to feel - funny. Exposed, sort of. Alone. It was like I was the last person on Earth. Or the only person who had ever existed."

Tyrell grimaced, hands to his face. "And then the sounds started. I kept hearing voices, sort of - so soft I couldn't tell what they were saying. They always seemed to come from behind me, but I'd turn around and there was nothing there. I started to think it was the rocks - the plants - or that I was just going crazy. Started to imagine that there had been a war or a plague, that everyone else in the world was dead, or that I had somehow been taken to another planet or something.

"Then..." He paused nervously. "I thought I saw something moving - in the distance, a shape. When I looked, it was almost like a statue. A stone giant. I started walking again - saw movement - it was still just a pile of rocks, but it was _closer_. I panicked, ran, and shouted for someone, anyone, to help me. The sun was coming up. It was getting hot, and I was thirsty. The stone giant never moved while I was looking at it, but it kept on getting closer, all in this weird silence. I remember thinking I was going to die, all alone, with no one to even know or care what had happened to me. I closed my eyes... and woke up..."

He ran his fingers through his hair, swallowing. "Maybe it doesn't sound like so much, but the way it _felt_..."

"I can imagine," Nightwing said. "And after that? How long before the rest of it started?"

"It started right away: the nightmares and Arnie not wanting to be alone," Patrice answered. "Then there was the day he tried to go back to work."

"Yeah. I walked to the train station, got on the train, got off at my usual stop. Then when I was about to clock in..." Tyrell shuddered. "Suddenly I got the image of being all alone, at night, in that big empty building, with voices whispering and things moving when I'm not looking. I've never felt anything like it, just blind panic. No way I could do my regular shift, not without people around. It makes no sense, I know that; there's nothing to be afraid of, but I can't stand to be alone anymore."

"It's gotten so bad he can't stay in the house by himself," Patrice said.

"Patty used to tease me about being anti-social." Tyrell looked up. "I used to like being alone. That's one reason I took the night shift at work; I _liked_ it. Now... It's getting worse. What's going to happen to my job? To my _life_?"

"It'll be okay," Nightwing said. "Has the Scarecrow contacted you?"

"No."

"Can you think of anything else? Anything that might help us find him?"

"No." Tyrell's shoulders slumped. "Nothing's going to help, is it? I'm going to stay like this until I go crazy."

"Of course not. Whatever this is, you can fight it."

"Yeah. Fight it." He sighed. "How do you fight something that's inside your own mind?"

Minutes later as Nightwing stepped out of the house, those words still seemed to ring in his ears. How do you fight fear? Especially a fear that was irrational, when you didn't know where it came from, or what had made it appear? That was a question Batman would have to find the answer to, and soon. If he was like Tyrell, and getting worse - how much longer could even Batman keep pretending nothing was wrong?

- - -

"There's nothing wrong. As you can see."

Batman bent a long, expressionless stare at Avery Billingsley, and saw his confident smile waver just a little. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Billingsley did appear to be fine, on the surface. They were in the luxurious office he occupied at the top of one of Gotham City's more upscale high-rise office buildings, in the headquarters of the company he had helped to make successful. Not that he really needed the extra money; like Bruce Wayne - whom he knew socially - he came from money.

"Of course I'm sure. Aren't you?" Billingsley raised his chin, apparently deciding to go on the attack. "From what I hear you were affected by the same drug. Yet you're still walking around."

"There are some aftereffects. Which is why I'm here."

_Some aftereffects._ No need to mention the dream that had come again last night, leading him inexorably back into that dark alley to follow three shadowy forms. This time, as he backed away from the bodies lying on dirty cement, he had turned to find Nightwing behind him again, staring, his eyes now as dead and empty as Kathy's had been. No need to mention the unmeasured time he had spent lying in bed, afraid to try to sleep again. Or the struggle he had gone through just to put on his costume, managing it only with his eyes closed and the mirror covered.

"I have no idea what you mean." Billingsley met his eyes steadily - at first. Then, as Batman returned his gaze intently, his eyes dropped away.

"No idea," Batman said softly. "I see." He glanced in the direction of the windows, seeing heavy drapes pulled closed over them. "Those drapes are new, aren't they?" he asked.

"New? Why do you say that?" Billingsley's voice betrayed only a trace of nerves.

"I can see where the holes were drilled for screws. You had the walls patched, but there hasn't been time to paint over those spots, has there?"

"Well - so what? I wanted drapes."

"That's not all." Batman took a step past the large, heavy desk and pointed. "Nice carpeting. Thick carpet like this keeps an imprint when something heavy has been moved recently. Your desk has been moved, away from the windows."

Billingsley seemed a shade paler, but he smiled as Batman looked at him again. "So I rearranged my furniture. What difference does it make?"

"Why? Why now? Something about the view you don't like?" Batman moved to the window and separated the drapes with a finger. "You have the blinds closed, too, on such a beautiful day."

"I - I don't like the sun. It's bad for me."

"Window glass filters out the UV rays. I thought a corner office on a high floor is one of the perks of your position. Lets you look out over the world from high above. Covering your windows defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't look down on anyone. Anything."

"Certainly not with your windows blocked like this. I think this office needs more light. It was designed for daylight, wasn't it?" He pulled on the curtains.

"No! Stop that!" Billingsley started forward, and stopped halfway, looking frightened as the drapes parted.

"Wonderful view, isn't it?" With a quick yank, careful not to catch sight of his own reflection, Batman pulled up the blinds, letting in bright afternoon sun which slanted in over the floor, making him blink. "The whole city, spread out below us. How many floors up are we? Forty? Fifty? That's a long way down."

"I've - I've seen it."

"You sound nervous. Why not come over here and take a look?"

"No thanks." Billingsley's voice was shaking, his face was pale and shiny with a film of sweat.

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing... nothing!" Abruptly, the other man turned his back and covered his face with his hands, shoulders trembling.

"What is it?" Batman asked more gently. "The height or the sunlight? Or maybe the open space?"

"I never wanted an office on an upper floor. Didn't like the idea of separating myself from everyone else, like I felt above them, but that's what everyone expected, a corner office with a view. Never really liked it, but it was never like _this_, I was never afraid like this..."

"So it's the height." Batman let the blinds fall back and pulled the drapes shut, casting the room into comparative dimness again. "It started after the Scarecrow gassed you?"

"Yes. I thought it was just - nerves. Shock. You know." Billingsley took a few unsteady steps to his chair and collapsed. "When that gas, or powder, or whatever it was hit me, I had this - this sort of nightmare. It was terrible. I was on a mountain, climbing it. It was windy, and cold, and dark. There were other people on the mountainside, climbing, all around me. All I could think about was making it up to the top before anyone else.

"Then, after what seemed like a long time, I reached it; climbed onto a rock at the top and looked back for the first time. I thought there had been other people right behind me, but there was no one now. They were all gone. I wanted to find them, to go back down where it was warm and bright. I started, reached my foot down, but there was nothing there, and my hands slipped... I felt myself slide off, couldn't stop it, and I looked down, straight down, it seemed like miles..." He shivered, but the words kept coming, as if a dam had broken. "I fell and fell, and watched the ground coming up at me, faster and faster. Then I woke up. Afterwards, I thought it was just normal reaction. At first. But it keeps getting worse."

"The Scarecrow always has a purpose. Any idea why he's done this? Has he contacted you?"

"The Scarecrow..." The businessman raised his head and took a deep breath. "I can't - I can't go on like this. You can see that."

"What do you mean?"

"If I talk to you... then he'll never cure me." Billingsley's eyes rose to his, a pleading light in them. "You have to understand. It's still getting worse. Soon I won't be able to walk into this office, or even get in the elevator. Who knows where it'll end?"

Batman was at the desk now, leaning to put his face uncomfortably close. "Tell me what he wants; show me the message; tell me how he wants you to reply. If we find him we can help you, along with the other victims, without giving in to extortion. Without letting him get away with this."

"I'm sorry. I can't take the chance. If I pay, I'll get the cure. You can understand, can't you?"

"I understand. I understand you're giving in. Rewarding him for what he's done." Batman took another moment before he stood up straight and stepped back. "But - you've already told me some of what I need to know."

"What?"

He turned back in the doorway, seeing Billingsley staring at him fearfully. "You told me the Scarecrow's after money." He smiled coldly. "And you've told me there's a cure."

- - -

The last time he'd been here was as an invited guest. This time... Nightwing hesitated. Knock on the door? Or pull a Batman by slipping in through a window? Not very polite, but impressive as hell, and Gordon should be used to it.

As he deliberated, the question became irrelevant. A quick jump and he was perched on a convenient tree branch, hidden from view as a car pulled into the driveway, came to a stop, and fell into silence. He watched as the door opened and the slim form of a woman got out with a quick flash of red hair. Barbara. This was exactly what he had been hoping for, a chance to see her alone.

He tensed. But now what? She didn't know him as Nightwing, only as Dick Grayson. If he talked to her from behind this mask she might even recognize him; he had never been able to disguise his voice as well as Bruce did. Or maybe that was what he wanted, for her to know the truth, and realize how badly she had misjudged him.

Either way, it was time to make a move, if he didn't want to miss the opportunity. Telling himself this was just a convenient way to get inside without raising an alarm, he swung himself down and dropped neatly onto the walkway, directly in front of her.

"Holy _shit_!" Her voice was loud and frightened, and she jumped back, hands rising and knees flexing into a defensive posture.

"Geez, don't yell, and especially don't hit me. I'm on your side." He smiled, he hoped reassuringly, and saw her start slightly, and stare at him.

"You're - you're Nightwing!"

"That's what they tell me. And you're Barbara Gordon."

"Yes..." She lowered her hands cautiously. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Just a conversation with your father. If you don't mind."

"Dad?" She moved a step closer, still staring intently. "My father is... not himself lately."

"I kind of guessed. That's why I need to talk to him."

"What about?"

"About... fear."

She looked him over one more time, her eyes sharp, and then smiled faintly. "That's becoming a familiar topic. He won't talk to _me_, but maybe... Come on in."

"Where have you been for two years?" Commissioner Gordon said a few minutes later as he sat in a corner of his living room, his face looking a little more lined than Nightwing remembered but otherwise alert and almost uncomfortably intense. He might have seemed almost exactly the same - if he hadn't refused to shake hands with a mumbled, embarrassed apology.

Nightwing shrugged. "Around. All around, I guess. Haven't stayed anyplace for very long."

"I've heard about you on the news now and then. Wondered if you were okay."

"Thanks. I've been fine."

"Why did you leave? If it's not too personal."

"Things here got..." Nightwing smiled. "Well, I thought there was no reason for me to stay."

"Not even your partnership with the Batman?"

"Especially not that. Look, with all due respect, I'm not here to talk about me."

"I know. I guess I was trying to avoid it." To his relief, Gordon dropped the subject of Batman and his own abrupt departure from Gotham City two years ago. "You want to know about the Scarecrow. About what he did to me."

"Yes. You've probably guessed by now that he did something similar to Batman. We're both trying to figure this out, to find a way to help all the victims."

"Right." Gordon looked away, staring at the blank wall, seeming to struggle internally before he sighed. "Yes. It's hard to talk about."

"I already have a good idea. When the Scarecrow sprayed you with his fear dust, you had some kind of dream, or hallucination."

"A dream. More like a nightmare."

"The more we know, the more chance we can find a way to do something about it. Will you tell me what you dreamed about?"

"It's personal." Gordon shot a quick glance at Barbara and then avoided their eyes.

"Dad," she said, "Whatever it is, you can tell me. Tell us. Maybe that would help."

"No. It's not something you should hear. Maybe if you leave-"

Father and daughter faced each other. "I'm not a little girl anymore," she said firmly. "Whatever it is, I want to know. I want to help. Please, Dad, for me."

They held each other's eyes for a few long seconds until Gordon blinked and sighed. "Okay. Just - try not to judge."

"You should know me better than that."

"Okay," Gordon repeated in a resigned voice. After another moment he went on, obviously forcing the words out. "It was years ago. Long before I became commissioner. Back when I was married. I..." His eyes turned to Barbara, and then resolutely to Nightwing. "It was a rough time in my life. New to Gotham. Trying to find my place here. I was assigned a partner. A woman; her name was Sarah. My wife was pregnant, we were having some problems, and things kind of got out of hand..." He stopped, swallowing convulsively.

"Dad, it's okay," Barbara said, reaching out but pulling her hand back as he flinched. "If this is what I think it is, I already know."

"Yeah. I guess it's no secret." Gordon went on with a visible effort. "In the dream, I was with Sarah, in the little hotel room we met in sometimes. A real dump, we always wondered if they ever cleaned there. In the dream it was worse, disgusting, dirt everywhere. We were..." He shot another guilty glance at his daughter. "Then the door flew open. My wife was standing there. She just stared at us, and then she looked around the room. She said we were... well, you can imagine. The way she looked at me... I started to go after her..." He stopped again, burying his face in shaking hands. "That's all. I can't tell you any more."

"It's okay, Dad," Barbara said gently, and turned to Nightwing. "I hope you've heard enough."

"Yes. I get the idea."

Gordon took a deep breath and spoke again. "Ever since the attack yesterday, I can't get the idea out of my head that everything I touch is dirty. Disgusting, and full of disease. I don't like the idea of going outside, in the streets, even in my car. I went to work today, but - it's getting worse, I can feel it."

"He keeps feeling compelled to wash his hands," Barbara said. "So far he can still function, but..." _But for how much longer?_ She didn't need to ask the question, the anxiety in her eyes said it all.

"The connection's pretty obvious," Nightwing said thoughtfully. "Scarecrow's drug took something that happened in your life, and turned it into a fear. You felt dirty, and now you're afraid of dirt. Maybe the same thing's true of the other victims."

"Maybe. Although I don't see how that helps." Gordon fell into silence again, his eyes distant.

"Come on," Barbara said to Nightwing. "I'll walk you out."

"Okay. Thanks, Commissioner. Good to see you again."

"And you. Let me know what you find." Gordon only glanced up, without a smile, before returning to staring blankly at the floor.

Barbara was silent as they left the room and returned to the front door. As Nightwing tried to think of something better to say to her than a simple goodnight, she raised resolute eyes to his. "Don't go yet. I may have something a little more useful to show you."

- - -

There was an odd look in District Attorney Marian Davis' eyes, contrasting strongly with the smile she had plastered on her face. Fearful, nervous, with an undertone of defiant anger. Batman was used to seeing that kind of look, but in this case he doubted he was the cause.

"So you see, I'm back at work," she was saying. "Still on the job, despite what happened. I'll be damned if I'll let that bastard keep me away."

"You seem a little nervous."

"You have no idea. Damn him, anyway."

"So - you're having aftereffects from the Scarecrow's attack?"

"Aftereffects. You make it sound so - clinical." Her tone was bitter.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"It's - it's personal."

"I respect that. But I need to know. It could help find him, and lock him up."

"You're right, of course." She sighed. "Funny. The papers call me 'fearless'. The fearless district attorney, crusading against the maggots who infest our society. I even started to believe it. They'd get a good laugh if they could see me now."

"If they saw what?"

"Have you noticed the smell in here?"

"Yes. Insecticide?"

"Right. I've had the exterminators in every day since it happened. Not that we get a lot of bugs, but..."

"But suddenly you're afraid of them." Batman leaned forward as she hesitated, her lips suddenly trembling. "Nothing to be ashamed of. Is that it? You've developed entomophobia - fear of insects?"

"Yes. Insects, spiders, any kind of bugs. The Scarecrow... whatever he used on me, it did this to me. He jumped out at me in my front yard, right after I got out of my car. Sprayed some kind of dust in my face. I remember him laughing as he ran away. And then..." She shivered.

"I was starting to go inside, to call the cops and get them after him, when it happened. The bugs. At first I just saw a little movement in the grass. Just a beetle or two. A few ants. I thought maybe I'd stepped on an anthill or something. But then there were more. They started crawling out of the lawn. Ladybugs, mantises, spiders, grasshoppers, butterflies, moths... things I don't even know the name of. They kept coming. I looked down and suddenly they were all over the ground. Hundreds, thousands, seemed like millions.

"Everywhere I looked, it was like a carpet of them, all around me. I didn't want to step on them - but there was no other way to get to the house. I decided to try running. Took a step. As soon as my foot touched the ground they started to crawl up my leg. They were on my skin... so disgusting... so many of them, moving so fast, I tried to brush them off but there were too many, and they were starting to swarm all over me, running all over me and coming higher... I screamed and screamed and they covered my face and everything went black..." With a shudder, she stopped, her skin gone pale and pasty.

"I never exactly liked them," she went on in a small, quiet voice. "But it was just the way most people don't like bugs. Never like this. Never had me jumping every time I think I see something move out of the corner of my eye. Didn't make me run at the sight of an ant on the sidewalk, or panic if I hear a fly buzzing. Now..." She shivered again, staring at him. "Just the thought of them makes my skin crawl. I keep thinking they're inside the walls, they're everywhere, waiting to come out and get me. I'm not a cowardly person. I'm _not_. But this... I can't control it. It's like it just takes over my mind, and all I can feel is fear."

He didn't really intend to say it, but it slipped out. "I know the feeling."

"You do? He got you too, didn't he?" She stared at him.

"Yes, he got me too." Batman met her eyes. "So I know what you mean about the fear taking you over. But as you can see, I'm still on the job too, and I'll stay there for as long as I can, just like you will." He saw her nod and smile faintly. "Is there anything you can tell me that might help?"

She seemed to hesitate for a few moments, and then opened a desk drawer, lifted an expensive purse out, and paused. "He got me right outside my own home," she said. "He could have gotten inside. Done something to my kids. The only thing that scares me more than this goddamn phobia is that thought."

"I understand."

"I wasn't going to tell you this, but... this is about more than me and my family, isn't it? If he gets away with this the Scarecrow will just keep doing it. If there's anything I've learned from dealing with vermin like that, it's that you can't make deals with them. They only want more." With a quick gesture she reached into the purse and pulled out an envelope. "Here. This is what he sent me."

- - -

"Is Batman affected the same way as Dad?" Barbara asked a few minutes later, voice lowered, as she stepped outside with Nightwing.

He glanced at her. "Yes. Not dirt or germs. Worse than that, in a way." He sighed. "Bats."

"Ironic." She hardly even felt surprised.

"Listen, thanks. For letting me talk to your father, and for this." He held up the note she had given him, the paper still crumpled from when she had balled it up in frustration, despite the way she had later smoothed it out again and carefully folded it.

"I expect something in return." She tilted her head to look him in the eyes. "The Scarecrow did this to my father. I want more than just to stand by while you and Batman go after him. I want in."

"Do you?" he smiled. "The best thing you can do is keep an eye on him." He nodded towards the house. "Do you think he'll tell us if the Scarecrow contacts him again?"

She glanced up at him and then away. "I don't know. He tried to hide the note from me. This is the first time he's talked about what's happened. I just - he won't _talk_ to me!" To her embarrassment, she could feel tears sting her eyes, and impatiently wiped at them. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He probably doesn't want to admit any weakness, especially to you." Nightwing reached out, seeming about to touch her hand, before he withdrew his. "I'll be back, if that's okay. You can tell me if anything happens."

"Sure. That would be good." She saw him nod and a moment later fade into the darkness.

Barbara stood still for a few moments, only her mind moving. Batman and Nightwing would do their best, but Batman himself was affected. He wouldn't be able to function normally. What if they failed? There was no way she could sit by watching her father becoming more helpless and terrified every day. She frowned. Was spying on her father the only way she could help, the only thing she could do? Maybe... and maybe not. But in the meantime, if she was going to spy, she was going to do a damn fine job of it. With a decisive nod, she turned back to the house to get her jacket.

- - -

TBC...


	7. Maneuvers

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Maneuvers

- - -

_By now you have perhaps realized that you have been affected by a psychotropic drug of my own design. It has resulted in an artificial phobia: one which has made you feel fears you have probably never imagined before. Your condition will only grow worse without treatment. _

_I am the only source of that treatment. If I wish you to slowly become more fearful until you eventually go mad, you will do so. If I wish to offer a cure - for a considerable price - you will pay. The decision is mine. The uncertainty is yours. Do not cooperate with the police or the Batman, and I may be favorably inclined. _

_-The Scarecrow_

"What do you think?" Bruce asked, pausing in the path he had been pacing for the last several minutes, ever since Dick had arrived to discuss what each of them had discovered the previous day.

"Can't say much for his writing style," Dick muttered.

"It gets the point across."

"I guess." The two notes, the original of the one sent to Commissioner Gordon and a copy of the one Marian Davis had received, both lay on an evidence table. They appeared identical. Bruce watched Dick poke a finger at the nearest piece of paper from his seat. "Billingsley must have gotten the same thing."

"Yes. He wouldn't admit it, but he must have. He seemed sure he would be offered the cure, so maybe the Scarecrow's contacted him since then, and obviously he's decided to pay."

"Lucky Ms. Davis and Gordon didn't just cave like he did."

"True. But I can't blame Billingsley too much. It's not easy to deal with fear like that. With trying to hide it..." Bruce glanced at him for a moment and quickly turned away, pacing again.

Dick's voice followed him. "The security guard, Tyrell, didn't get a note."

"No. He doesn't have that kind of money. Plus he was only drugged because he got in the way. The Scarecrow has no interest in him. I'm a little surprised that Gordon got one, but the Scarecrow probably couldn't resist gloating."

"You haven't gotten one either."

"He knows Batman wouldn't pay his extortion money. And he wouldn't give me the antidote anyway."

"Yeah, I guess. Can't you sit down? You're making me nervous."

Bruce hardly noticed the comment as he turned and started back along the same path. "Phobia," he muttered, mostly to himself. "An irrational fear. Why bats? Did he do it on purpose? Can he control what each person became afraid of, or is it random?"

"I don't think it's random. But I don't think he can control it either."

"Acrophobia, the fear of heights. Entomophobia and arachnophobia, fear of insects and spiders. Monophobia, fear of being alone; and mysophobia, fear of dirt and contamination. What do they have in common?"

"Nothing much."

"Why those things then? Does it mean something?" Dick's words finally registered. "What do you mean, it's not random but the Scarecrow can't control it?"

Dick frowned and answered slowly and thoughtfully. "Well... It's just a theory. But Gordon--" He hesitated. "Well, he felt dirty, out of guilt, and it's been exaggerated into a fear of dirt. Tyrell, the guard, said his wife used to tease him about being anti-social. Maybe he felt a little afraid that it was true, and that got exaggerated too."

"Interesting idea." A few remembered words nagged at him. "Billingsley. He said something about not wanting to seem like he's looking down on anyone. Said it a couple of times. And then his dream, about getting to the top and ending up alone and falling."

"What about Marian Davis?"

"She referred to criminals as maggots and vermin, come to think of it. She hates them, and hate and fear often go together."

"So there's some connection, for all of them." Dick was leaning forward in his chair, his eyes intent. "It's not really obvious, except in Gordon's case. Probably subconscious. But I think those fears came from their own minds."

"And the drug just brought them out..." Bruce stopped, staring thoughtfully without really seeing anything. "It could have amplified an existing fear, in the form of something symbolic of what the person really is afraid of."

"Exactly." Dick waited, then spoke as Bruce started to pace again. "So the next question is: why bats?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, why did you get a phobia of bats? Why of something that you use as your own symbol? What's the connection?"

"None that I'm aware of," Bruce said cautiously, not sure why he felt so uncomfortable.

"What do bats mean to you? What are you really afraid of?"

"Nothing!" he said sharply.

"There must be something. We just finished saying that there's a connection between existing fears and these phobias."

"And as you said, it's just a theory." He turned his back, staring blindly into the depths of the cave. Had that been the soft squeak of a bat in the distance?

Dick's voice was very quiet when it broke the silence between them. "What was your dream about?"

"Nothing."

"Must have been something. Maybe it would help to talk about it."

"Look..." Bruce turned to face him, finding Dick's face concerned and set into determination. "I can see what you're getting at, but in this case what I dreamed isn't important. Where this - this bat phobia came from isn't important. What matters is that now I know what it is. It's just an artificial phobia, a fear that isn't even real. It's _only fear_, dammit. That's something I've lived with all my life. I can fight it. Control it."

"Can you? This isn't like being afraid of someone sticking a gun in your face."

"No, it isn't. That's something real. Worth being afraid of. Bats... that's nothing. I know there's nothing to be afraid of. All I have to do is keep telling myself that."

"Is that what you tried before? Like the time you fell off that roof?"

"I wasn't ready! I didn't know what to expect. Next time it'll be different." Almost without realizing it, Bruce had crossed the space between them and was leaning over the table, his face only a couple of feet from Dick's.

"Next time. They know your weakness now. They'll use it again."

"Won't do them any good," Bruce said grimly, glaring.

Dick showed no signs of being impressed, but after a moment he shrugged. "If you say so."

"Good." Bruce turned away, leaning against the table. "We have to find the Scarecrow. Get that antidote before Billingsley gets the chance to pay up. After I left Billingsley's office I planted a tracer on his car." He pointed at the display on a nearby monitor. "We can watch where he goes. If it's anywhere unusual, we'll follow."

Dick smiled as Bruce turned back to him. "There's Barbara too. She wants to help, and she's going to watch Gordon in case he's contacted again."

"Mmm. I doubt the Scarecrow will ask him for money. Jim's not rich enough to interest him, and he wasn't the intended target of that attack." Bruce sank into the other chair. "Marion Davis - she's also unlikely to pay, and he knows it. The Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane - is a very smart man. Clever and careful, but he has a weakness, the reason he went after someone like Davis or the mayor. We saw it in those notes. He's not just after money; he wants power over these people, the thrill of having a hold over them, of feeling superior to them. He may be content to just let them suffer."

"I can talk to Barbara about it again."

Bruce glanced up at Dick, finding that same smile on his face. "Watch out with her," he said. "You don't want to get too close. And you don't want her getting too involved with this case. Could be dangerous."

For a moment Dick looked like he was about to argue, but then he nodded. "So we watch Billingsley," he said, standing up and stretching before taking a seat at the tracking monitor. "Fine. I can take the first shift."

- - -

_Darkness... A wall that seemed to go on forever, as far as he could see. Hesitantly he stepped through the one opening into deeper darkness... A child was laughing softly and chillingly, a sound that seemed to carry an infinity of evil and malice... _

"_Bruce..."_

"Bruce!"

"Wha - What...?" He lurched into wakefulness, finding himself sitting at his worktable in the Batcave, head pillowed on a pile of printouts.

"Are you okay?" Dick was staring at him from in front of the display of the tracer in Avery Billingsley's car.

"Fine. I was just resting for a minute. What happened?"

"Take a look." Dick swiveled in his chair to point at the screen. "Our pal Avery seems to be slumming."

Bruce got to his feet and joined him, leaning over his shoulder. "That part of town's certainly not on his way home, and it's not likely to be any place he normally goes."

"So we check it out?"

"Let's go."

Bruce turned and crossed the room to open the small closet where his costume hung, just as he had done so many times over the years. But this time... The fear had gotten worse. How much worse he realized as soon as he reached out. He hesitated, reached again, and again stopped, flesh crawling at the thought of touching that bat-like mask, wearing that cape like leather wings, seeing himself reflected in other people's eyes as a giant, monstrous bat.

Dick would be watching, couldn't let him see this... Bruce managed to touch it, to wrap his fingers around the hanger and lift it out - the cape swirled, the edges lifting like batwings, moving as if it was alive... He barely prevented himself from dropping it.

"Are you all right?" Dick had his costume on except for mask and gloves, and had stopped to stare at him.

"I'm..." He almost said sure, he was fine, but that would be too obvious a lie. With a shudder, Bruce shook his head.

"I'll go alone."

"No. I - I can do it." Bruce turned away from the expression on Dick's face and steeled himself. It was only a costume. Only cloth. Somehow, by keeping his mind blank, he got it on. The hardest part was the mask, the sensation that he was vanishing into some horrifying bat-creature, being taken over, polluted, destroyed; as he lowered it over his face.

Trying not to show how deeply shaken he was, Batman turned to face his partner. "Let's go," he said.

"I'll drive."

He didn't even have the will to argue.

- - -

The Batmobile got them there in less than ten minutes. Nightwing parked far enough away not to be seen, and the two of them took to the rooftops. In minutes they were looking down on the scene below. Sure enough, there he was: Avery Billingsley with a briefcase in hand, looking tense and nervous as he fidgeted and looked around.

There was motion at the corner, as a tall, thin man in a long, belted coat with a hat pulled low on his head stepped into view, staying close to the wall of the office building Billingsley was standing in front of. Batman watched intently as he moved closer. Jonathan Crane. It could be no one else. Billingsley had stiffened, every line of his body radiating fear and hostility. The two faced each other, exchanging words they were too far away to hear. Crane reached for the case. The businessman pulled it back, and jabbed a pointing finger at him, then held out his hand.

He wanted his reward, the cure, before he handed over the money, that much was clear. It was equally clear that Crane either hadn't brought it or wasn't going to give it up yet, as the faint sound of laughter drifted to their corner of the rooftop.

Billingsley advanced on Crane, his free arm waving furiously, his voice raised in a shout. Two more men seemed to come out of nowhere; from a narrow alleyway, Batman realized on second glance. They grabbed Billingsley, yanked the case from his hand, one of them knocking him down with a hard blow to the side of the head.

Batman was on his feet, Nightwing right behind him as he reached the edge of the roof. Only a moment to anchor their lines and they were sliding swiftly and gracefully down to join the fight, landing with a light thump that was barely enough to alert Billingsley's attackers. The two men froze, then turned to run. Cowards, just like most of them. He charged after them, fastening his eyes on the Scarecrow. Catch him now, force him to tell where the antidote was, and this would all be over.

The two thugs rounded the corner back into their alleyway and disappeared, Crane on their heels. Batman sprinted to catch up, and saw them a few yards ahead, headed for a low wooden wall. The first reached it and jumped to grab the top, pulling himself up swiftly despite the encumbrance of the money-filled briefcase. The second did the same, and turned back long enough to help Crane scramble up and balance precariously. The one who had been in the lead moved to the alley wall and began to climb a rusty ladder, followed by his companions.

By then Batman had reached the wall and climbed it in one smooth motion, Nightwing at his back as he started for the ladder. The Scarecrow was within his reach - he grabbed at the fleeing criminal's foot. Crane stopped long enough to kick at him and then was off the ladder, running across the rooftop they had reached.

Batman followed - couldn't let them reach the doorway they were headed for, probably leading back down to the street - but the Scarecrow abruptly stopped and whirled to face him, hand emerging from a pocket holding what looked like a paper bag - he ripped it open and whipped it overhead, sending it tumbling, the contents spilling out on the breezy air in a cloud of small dark shapes that whirled and fluttered in the harsh illumination from a light over the door.

"NOooo!" Batman barely recognized the scream as his own voice. Terror flooded him, leaving room for nothing else but the image of a swarm of bats surrounding him in a tornado of high-pitched calls and leathery wings, tiny teeth ripping at him... He doubled up and fell to the rooftop surface, curling into a self-protective huddle, barely aware of Nightwing pausing beside him and then running on.

Get away... That all-consuming impulse made him open his eyes again and look around desperately. They were everywhere, a few still drifting in the air, most lying where they had fallen. Trembling, he stumbled back to his feet and into a crouching run in the only direction clear of them, towards a corner.

Once there, he crouched, becoming aware of Nightwing struggling with the two thugs while Crane disappeared through a doorway into what looked like a stairwell leading down. Even as he tried to force himself to go and help, the brief fight was over. The two thieves ran after their boss. Nightwing hesitated, seeming about to go after them, but then he bent to pick up the briefcase which they had dropped and headed back.

"Batman, are you okay?"

"Yeah... Yeah... I'm fine..." He stared past his partner fearfully.

"Sure you are. Come on, let's get out of here."

"I..." How could he say that he couldn't? That he was trapped here by those small, fluttering objects?

"Batman, they're not real bats. Just paper cutouts. Paper. Nothing to be afraid of."

"I _know_ what they are!" Fear suddenly transformed into anger and shame. Batman straightened, determined to show he could do this. It occurred to him how he must look, a grown man terrified by a handful of bat-shaped pieces of paper.

They picked their way through them, Batman hating the way he flinched every time the breeze made one stir, almost as if it were alive and ready to fly at him. Nightwing was at his elbow every step of the way, but his concern was only an irritant, only making the humiliation complete.

Finally, they were climbing back down the ladder, and then stepping onto the sidewalk where they had started. Billingsley had disappeared, but the distant sound of sirens came to them through the cool night air.

"They got away," Batman muttered to himself.

"But not with this." Nightwing lifted the case.

"No. They'll try again." And next time - what? Batman tried to think, to make a plan, to anticipate his enemy's next move, but all that came to his mind was the image of himself shivering in terror on that rooftop. It must never happen again - but at the moment he had no idea of how to prevent it.

- - -

Quietly, she edged into the bar, pausing at the back wall to peer through smoke-filled air and scan the crowd. Many of the same old faces. Her former friends, still here. She felt a twinge of pity for them, stuck in this dreary life with no hope or ambition of something better. She thought she herself had moved on and put this behind her forever - but here she was again.

A few heads turned, eyes sharpened in interest, then widened in recognition and swiftly slid away. Not many would want to talk to her. Not many had ever really felt comfortable around a woman who didn't fall into their neat categories of girlfriend, wife, mother, hooker, drunk, junkie - or victim.

Enough. She saw the people she was looking for, both of them, sitting at the bar. She watched for a time, waiting for them to notice her, making sure they weren't with anyone else. Outside of a few nods and casual greetings, they appeared not to be. Finally, one of them turned on his stool to check out the crowd, spotted her, and nudged his companion. She caught their eyes, nodded her head in the direction of the door, and stepped back outside. When they emerged a minute or so later, she was waiting in the shadows.

"Hello, Danny. Marty."

"Hello, _Ms. Kyle_." Marty emphasized her name just enough to be ironic. "Kinda a surprise to see you. Since you don't hang with our kind anymore and all."

The best defense would be a good offense. "You fools. What did you expect when you popped out at me like that, practically in front of where I live? I knew I was being watched. Would have served you right if the Batman had given you what you deserved. I was tempted to do it myself."

"We didn't mean nothin', Catwoman," Danny said.

"Does that mean you're back in the game?" Marty asked.

"Never left, boys. Just a vacation." Selina paused. "What have you two been up to?"

"We've been on a job with the Scarecrow."

Just as she had suspected. "That thing at Police Plaza? The attack on the mayor?" She let an admiring note enter her voice. Nothing like a little praise to soften them up. "That took a lot of guts, with so many cops around."

"Yeah, cops and Batman. But we did it. Scared the crap out of him with that bat. Man, that was sweet." Marty was grinning.

"I saw on TV. Amazing, the way he went right off that roof. He could have been killed."

"Yeah!" Danny said enthusiastically. "Too bad, we coulda been the guys who got rid of the Batman!"

"You? But it was the Scarecrow's idea, wasn't it?"

"Nah," Marty answered. "We told him about what happened when we ran into Batman near your building. When he dropped the batarang. The Scarecrow was real impressed. He's the one who figured out Batman is afraid of bats now, but - he couldn't have done it without us!"

"I see," she said slowly. "I was wondering how the Scarecrow knew... but you told him. Very clever of you."

"Yeah, the Scarecrow's kind of creepy, but he's okay. Pays well." Marty was watching her carefully. "But if you want to get the old gang together..."

"No. You're right, the Scarecrow's pretty impressive. And he seems to have a way to get to Batman." She smiled coldly. "I have a few scores to settle with the Bat myself. Tell the Scarecrow I want in. Arrange a meeting, if you can."

"Sure thing, Catwoman."

She watched them go back inside, the thin smile on her face fading. It was taking a chance, a big one. This could mean the end of what she was trying to do with her life, her way out of the dead end this bar and its inhabitants represented. But she could see no other way.

It was time for the Catwoman to prowl again.

- - -

TBC...


	8. Disguises

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Disguises

- - -

Barbara sighed. Plant a bug in her father's phone. Right. Go to police headquarters, sweet-talk her way into his office and bug that too, just in case. Check. Eavesdrop on every conversation he had. Be a detective, catch a dangerous criminal, or at least help. Too bad she had never stopped to think about how colossally boring it is to spend most of one's time sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. Of course, she reflected with another sigh, probably if someone spied on her they'd be equally bored stiff.

And there was the possibility that she would overhear something personal, something that would invade his privacy... But by now she would almost be happy; anything to liven things up. If only he had some exciting but not too embarrassing secret... If he was a secret agent or an alien from outer space or a superhero in disguise... She smiled at the momentary vision of her father jumping out of his chair, whipping off his glasses, ripping his shirt open and shouting, "_This is a job for Superman!"_

And as if boring wasn't enough, it was also damn time-consuming. Wistfully she thought about the triple shifts of cops who would be doing the listening if the police were doing this. Yet another sigh was cut short as she heard the phone ring again in the earpiece she used to listen to transmissions from her bug. Then her eyes snapped wide open and she bolted upright in her chair as a dry, thin, papery voice spoke, a shiver down her spine telling her this was what she had been waiting for.

"_Commissioner Gordon." _

"_Yes?"_ His voice sounded cautious.

"_Are you prepared to deal with me?" _

"_What do you want?" _

"_Not money. Not from you. You have other things to offer." _

"_Like what exactly?" _

"_As Commissioner, you have power over the police. Authority that could make my life a little easier." _

"_Go on."_ Barbara inhaled. Her father would never make a deal like what the Scarecrow seemed to be suggesting. Would he?

"_You could make sure that my men are not arrested. If they are, you could make sure that investigations go nowhere, that evidence is lost." _

"_And if I don't?" _

"_Then you will continue as you are. How much longer will you be Commissioner? Resistance will accomplish nothing; there are others who will assist me, and you will simply be out of the picture." _

"_Others? Like District Attorney Davis?"_ Gordon's voice was tight. "_Is she willing to go along with your plan?" _

"_I will be in touch. Soon. Fear is a terrible burden, Commissioner. It can wear down even one of the finest. Perhaps you will have a change of heart and decide to be more - sensible." _

"_Wait!"_ A click ended the call. Barbara could hear her father's rapid breathing, before he hung up as well. Then, as she was about to pull the earplug out, she heard him dialing another number.

"_Marion?"_

A voice she recognized as the District Attorney's answered. "_Jim? Nice to hear-" _

"_Has the Scarecrow contacted you?"_ he cut in.

"_What...? Not since the note... Do you think he will?" _

"_Yes, I do. I just got off the phone with him. Damn, the bastard wants us to play along with him. Protect him, make sure he and his gang stay out of jail." _

"_What?"_ Her voice faltered. "_I can't go along with that, Jim!" _

"_I don't expect you to. And neither will I." _

"_Then... what are we going to do about it?" _

"_Leave that to me. And don't worry. I don't need his damn antidote, and neither do you. We can beat this on our own."_

Thoughts seemed to fly though Barbara's mind against a background of both pride in her father and fear for him as she listened to them say goodnight and hang up. She stood up, again considering calling the police in, and again discarding the idea. What would it accomplish? She was not eager to tell them she had planted an illegal wiretap on the Police Commissioner, who also happened to be their boss and her father. And she had no idea what he was up to. No, she was on her own in this, without even a way to contact Batman and Nightwing quickly.

Unless...

- - -

_That's not Bruce,_ was Dick's first thought as the tap on his door was repeated. No, that half-hesitant knock couldn't be Bruce; he would have called first. Probably. Who else then? Not Alfred, he would definitely have called. No one else knew he had moved back into his old apartment, or even that he was back in Gotham.

Probably just someone going from door to door selling something, then. Dick considered just ignoring them, and then went to peer through the peephole. The face on the other side was female - framed by red hair - and very familiar. With an odd combination of dread and excitement churning his stomach, he opened the door.

They just stared at each other for a few seconds. Then... "Can I come in?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah, sure." He stood aside to let her enter, seeing her eyes lift to his as she passed and then dart quickly away. In the living room, she stood irresolutely. "Can I get you anything?" Dick asked, smiling at the ordinariness of his own question.

"No. Thanks."

"Um... I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing." She met his gaze directly this time. "Or I could ask where you've been for the last two years."

He shrugged. "Here and there. Nowhere in particular. How'd you know I was back?"

"Just a hunch. May I sit down?"

"If you can find a clean spot. I haven't had much chance to fix the place up."

Barbara looked the sofa over, brushed at it and sat down. As he took a seat in the one armchair she stared at him with that disconcerting directness again, but all she said was, "So then you haven't been back long."

"A few days."

"Why did you leave like that, without a word?"

She wasn't the only one who could confront things head-on. "_You're_ the one who broke up with _me_, remember?"

"You didn't leave just because of me." She stated it as a fact.

"Well, no."

"You left a good job, too. And your home. Why?"

He shrugged again, suddenly wishing he hadn't opened the door. "It's something... It's personal."

"Personal... Okay." Her eyes fell, her expression unhappy.

"You haven't answered my question. Why did you come here?"

"You haven't answered mine, either." After the flash of annoyance, she took a deep breath. "I came because my dad's in trouble. Because I don't know what to do to help him. Because - because I'm afraid he might do something stupid."

Dick frowned at that, and asked quickly, "Stupid? What do you mean?"

"You know about what's happened to him. What the Scarecrow did." Again she stated it as a fact.

"Yeah," he said cautiously.

"Well, he and the DA - Marian Davis - are up to something." She twisted her fingers together nervously. "He won't tell me, but - I know what it's about."

"Well... what?"

"The Scarecrow has contacted Dad. He wants to make a deal. Cooperation in exchange for a cure. He wants Dad to make sure the police don't try too hard to stop him, and he probably wants Ms. Davis to make sure he and his men don't get prosecuted effectively."

"Man." Dick rubbed his chin. "Your father told you about it?"

"Well, not exactly. I - listened in when they talked."

"Listened in?"

"Yeah." She looked up, her expression both nervous and defiant. "I was afraid something like this would happen, and - that Dad wouldn't be thinking straight. So I bugged his phone. I heard everything when the Scarecrow called him a few hours ago."

"You bugged his phone."

"That's right."

Dick couldn't help it; he grinned. "Let me get this straight. You bugged the phone of the Police Commissioner of Gotham City."

"Yes. Both his private line at home and his office."

"Oh, man. Babs - you have hidden talents." He laughed and saw her finally smile in return. Their eyes met again - this time with more than a spark of the old warmth. That sobered him. "Um... so, why are you telling _me_ all this?" he asked after a moment.

"Because - because then he called Ms. Davis and I heard them talking. Dad told her not to worry, and he would take care of it."

"Is he..." He stopped, unwilling to ask the question.

Barbara said it for him, in a very quiet voice, staring down at her hands which were clasped tightly again. "Is he planning to go along with the Scarecrow? Give in and do what he wants? I don't think so. It didn't sound like it. But I don't know what he's planning and if it - makes any sense."

"Yeah, I guess when you going through something like that, it's hard to think straight..." He trailed off as his thoughts inevitably turned to Bruce.

She nodded. "But the thing is, he insists he's better, ever since he talked to me and - and Nightwing about his dream. Says he can get through it on his own, without an antidote. Either he's lying, or fooling himself, or he really is better - but then, why the secrecy? He didn't say anything to me about that call."

"I don't know..." Dick frowned in thought. If Gordon didn't need the antidote, or thought he didn't - what else could he have in mind?

"It's true that people can get over phobias. But it takes time. Lots of time, to go through conditioning and therapy. On the other hand, this is an artificial phobia; who knows what could happen?" Barbara sighed. "I don't know what to think. I just want so much for him to be back the way he was."

After a moment of hesitation, Dick reached out and took her hand, feeling her fingers press his lightly. "I know your dad," he said gently. "He's a strong guy. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

"I hope you're right."

"Is there anything else? Any idea when the Scarecrow is going to call again?"

"I don't know. I've told you everything he said." Barbara was watching him intently. "Whatever Dad intends to do - if Batman and Nightwing knew about this, maybe they could help..."

Dick's attention returned to her with a snap. "Batman and Nightwing?" he asked faintly.

"You heard me."

Again they stared at each other, hands still linked. Several possibilities of things to say flashed through Dick's mind. Denials. A laugh, a joke to make it seem ridiculous. Even just a shrug. But what he found himself saying was, "I have a feeling they'll find out."

"Good. Uh... Do you think Batman can handle it? I mean, since he has a problem, too?"

Again Dick found himself answering truthfully. "I don't know, but if anyone can do it, he can. And there's always Nightwing."

"Yes, there's always Nightwing..." She stood up quickly. "Well, I have to be going. Have to get back to Dad. I set up the equipment to record any calls, but I need to be there."

"Okay. If anything happens, call me." He caught up at the doorway, as she turned to glance back. For a moment they were standing close together, her face only a few inches away and tilted up to his. For that moment he wondered what she would do if he simply leaned forward and kissed her. And the moment passed.

"Welcome back to Gotham," she said in a small voice.

"Thanks. It's good to be back." And for the first time, he felt that it was true.

- - -

"Okay, just a few more steps... We're here."

Selina dropped her hand immediately from Marty's guiding arm. "Can I take off the blindfold yet?" she asked.

"Of course," a different voice answered. It sounded dry. Dusty, like brittle, crumbling paper.

With a quick gesture Selina pulled off the cloth that had been tied over her eyes. Only a glance showed her that she recognized the voice correctly; the Scarecrow, or rather Jonathan Crane, stood several feet away from her, dressed in normal clothes. A longer look around showed... what?

She, Marty, Danny, Crane, and a few unfamiliar men were standing on a flat concrete surface, in a pool of light cast by several harsh, uncovered bulbs hung against the only wall she could see. The ceiling was lost in the shadows above, but must be high. Several yards away, a line of columns was barely visible as it passed them and vanished into the darkness in both directions.

"Where is this?" she asked.

"First tell me why you wanted this meeting."

Selina returned her attention to the angularly thin figure in front of her. She smiled. "Maybe I figured any man who could frighten the great Batman is worth meeting."

"So is this a social call?"

"Not exactly." She took a step closer. "I've been - out of circulation for quite a while now. I'm looking for some action."

"With me?" His voice seemed amused, but something had crept into it that almost made her shiver as he closed the distance between them by another step. "You're as beautiful as I've always heard. How could I refuse such an attractive offer?"

_Ugh. Never._ But she kept a smile firmly on her face and put a seductive hint into her tone as she replied, "That's not exactly what I had in mind - at least not yet. I was thinking that maybe it's time I considered having a partner."

"A partner? And what would I get out of this - partnership?" Crane came closer still, paused, and then started to move around her.

Selina turned to keep him in view, still smiling as they circled each other slowly and warily. "Simple. You want the Batman out of your way. I want revenge for the years I spent in jail because of him. You've found a weakness in him - I know how to take advantage of it."

"In return for what?"

"Perhaps we can help each other. Is it true you've been giving people artificial phobias? Even Batman?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. It's true."

"And that you have an antidote that could make us - I mean _you_, of course - very rich?" She slid a sidelong glance at him, her lips curved.

"That also happens to be true." He had crossed his arms and was watching her with an amused expression.

"You're a brilliant man, I can see that. I like brilliant men, especially ones who have something so valuable."

"I've got bigger plans than extorting a little money here and there."

"How interesting... Maybe I could share in those plans, just in a small way, of course... I like to think I have a few talents of my own to offer..." She took another step, lowering her voice to a silky, intimate murmur. "I'd love to hear all about your plans. Maybe you can show me your fear drug, too, and the antidote, and maybe I can show _you_ something..."

"You're a greedy little creature, aren't you?" He smirked at her.

"Who, me?"

"Oh, don't think it's a criticism. I like greed. I understand it. Like fear, I can use it for my own purposes."

"So - does that mean I'm in?" she asked, not trying to hide the eager gleam in her eyes.

"As I said, how could I refuse?" he murmured. "Yes, I have bigger plans indeed. First here in Gotham, and then, who knows? And you really want to be a part of it?"

"Who wouldn't?"

"You want revenge on Batman?"

"Yes."

"Hm. The big bad Bat has become rather a thorn in my side of late as well. I already have plans to remove that thorn, very soon. And if you wish to contribute... Why not? Perhaps we can do each other a favor after all." His smile again sent shivers down her spine. "How quickly can you change into that fetching catsuit of yours?"

- - -

Bruce heard the footsteps, recognized them as Dick's and didn't turn around. He kept his eyes on the mirror before him, on his own costumed and masked form. At last, he could look on it without fear.

The footsteps slowed and stopped. Dick's voice came from behind him. "Batman?" he asked hesitantly.

"Not anymore." Bruce turned away from his own reflection and raised his hands to push back the cowl and reveal his face. "Batman is gone."

"What do you mean?" Dick stared. "What the hell is that?"

Bruce knew what he saw, himself in a form-fitting, all-black costume brightened only by tiny pinpricks of white and the outline of a stylized starburst over the chest. No cape, heavy gloves and boots, a thick black belt with silvery threads lining it. The cowl he had removed was plain and equally black.

"This is my new costume. Like it?"

"Yeah, it's great. What's going on?"

Bruce turned away from his narrowed eyes. "Since the Scarecrow knows Batman's weakness, and since I had - a problem - with the old costume, I decided this was the only way."

"The only way for _what_, exactly?"

"Batman will disappear." Bruce took a deep breath. It hurt to say it; somehow saying it made it real, and the reality was that he was giving up something that had been a part of him for years, perhaps even since the night his parents had died. In a deep sense, it was giving up what he _was_. And yet - while the name would change, the man would not. It was the only way to continue doing what Batman had been created for, to keep him alive, even if it had to be done under a different name.

"Maybe the Scarecrow's stopped Batman, but he hasn't stopped _me_." He faced Dick again. "From now on, call me Starman."

- - -

TBC...


	9. Confession

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Confession

- - -

"So let me get this straight. You think changing your costume and calling yourself Starman is going to solve your problem?" Dick's voice was harsh and unbelieving.

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Tell me what you dreamed about."

Bruce shot him a glare. "How is that supposed to help?"

"Gordon thinks it helped him to tell me and Barbara about his dream."

"Even if it did - I'm not Gordon."

"Look..." Dick sighed. "Fine, you have a new name and new costume. Do you really think it's going to make a difference? How long will it take the Scarecrow to figure that one out? Five minutes, if you're lucky?"

Bruce turned away. "I know he'll figure it out. But it doesn't have to work for long if it gets me enough time to get that antidote."

"This is crazy!"

Bruce turned back to him. "Crazy or not, it's my only choice."

- - -

"Dad, I'm back," Barbara called, sighing as she took off her jacket and hung it up.

Her talk with Dick had been reassuring - in a way - and yet depressing - and happy - and sad... Confusing might be the best word. With another sigh, she turned over the idea that she wasn't as completely over him as she had thought. Why else would it have hurt so much when he hadn't been willing to tell her why he had left? Personal reasons. Once she had had the right to hear whatever was personal to him. No more.

"Dad?" she called again, other problems fading into the background as she listened to only echoes answer. The house was empty; she could feel it. He was gone. "Damn, damn, damn," she muttered as she hurried to her room, and again as she saw that a phone call had been recorded while she was gone. Her fingers fumbled in their haste, but finally she got the tape rewound and listened to the sound of a call being answered in her father's familiar voice.

"_Hello?_"

"_Jim, it's Marion._"

"_You got an email too, didn't you?_"

"_Yes, I did. Jim, what-" _

"_Don't do anything. Just stay there. I'll meet him and take care of this._"

"_What are you going to do?_"

"_I'm going to make sure the Scarecrow doesn't do any more damage._"

"_But..._"

"_Don't worry._" There was a pause. "_And don't tell anyone. Just leave it to me._"

"No!" Barbara cried as the click of disconnection sounded in her earpiece. He had gone to meet the Scarecrow on his own; it was the only explanation. But how long ago? Where was he? And what was he planning to do?

Any email her father had gotten at home would be on the computer in his study. She jumped to her feet and headed in that direction at a run.

- - -

"Bruce..." Dick gestured at him, frustration clear in his face. "This Starman costume isn't going to help. Yeah, maybe it'll get you through one night. Maybe. But what about after that? And it's not just the Scarecrow; by now half the crooks in Gotham know about this, and the other half will soon."

"Don't you think I know that?" Bruce turned on him, his own anger and frustration at the boiling point. "What else am I supposed to do? Just give up?"

"No. Look, Barbara came to see me tonight. She said Gordon's been contacted by the Scarecrow again, and something's going to happen soon. I can go after him myself."

"This is _my_ fight." Bruce felt his fingers curling. "I'm going."

"You're in no condition."

"Don't try to stop me. And don't try to cut me out. If Barbara finds out anything, I want you to tell me."

"Why? So you can fall off another roof? So you can have another panic attack over a bunch of paper cutouts?" Dick crossed his arms and said brutally, "Stay home. The way you are now, you're just a liability."

Bruce stiffened. "How dare you say that!" he growled. "I taught you. I made you what you are!"

"And then you tried to destroy all that by forcing me to give up being Nightwing."

"I was trying to protect you! And then you left without a word. How did you think that made me feel?"

"Yeah, I left, because you kicked me out! After you smacked me around a little first!"

"You deserved it, for what you said about my parents!" A wave of cold fury washed over Bruce. He took a step closer to his partner, raising a fist.

"Is that what you're going to do now? Hit me again? You solve all your problems that way, Bruce?"

"No, I..." Shaken at how close to being right Dick was, Bruce lowered his arm and stepped back. "Dammit... If that's the way you feel, why the hell did you come back?" he muttered.

"Because you taught me. Because you made me what I am, at least partly." Dick's voice was quiet now. "Because I care about you, Bruce. Because I guess you're the closest thing I have to a family. And I don't want anything to happen to you."

Blinking, Bruce turned away. "I'm sorry," he managed after a few moments.

"So am I. I thought I'd be able to help, but maybe I've made things worse."

"No, you haven't." Bruce braced himself with a deep breath. "You said you wanted to know what I dreamed about."

- - -

Breathless, Barbara threw herself into a chair in front of her father's computer. It was still on, with no programs open. A couple of clicks later, she was scanning the list of his emails, making a low sound of frustration as she saw no sign of it. He must have deleted it.

Only one thing to do. She reached for the phone.

- - -

"It started with darkness... I was in a dark place. Big. No sound. Just a wall in the distance." Bruce sighed. It sounded so harmless. How could he communicate what it had felt like?

"A wall. Was that it? What happened?" Dick prompted.

"I started to walk. Trying to find out where I was." Bruce paused again, shivering slightly as the bleak, fearful mood of the dream seemed to descend on him again. "I could hear voices in the distance. Thought I heard my name, but I'm not sure. Couldn't make out what they were saying."

"Whose voices?"

"They were..." He found it hard to say. "They were a man and a woman. And a child."

"Okay. Go on."

"Then I saw them, in the distance. Just shadows, really. They were walking into an opening in the wall. The child..." He stopped, and forced himself to go on. "The child ran in, and the man and woman followed."

"And?"

"I ran after them. Couldn't see them. Then... then I saw her... Kathy."

"Kathy?"

"She was there, all white, staring at me. She said something... I don't remember. Then she sort of drifted away, after the other three." The words were coming quickly now, Bruce had almost forgotten about Dick as the memory took over. "I started to go after her. And then you were there, trying to stop me."

"_I_ was there?"

"Yes. You were telling me we had to get away. That I couldn't help them. I pushed you out of the way, and went in. It was - it was an alley. Not much light. A few sounds, voices again, a scream. And then a gunshot."

Dick nodded silently.

Bruce could hear his voice tremble, but was helpless to control it. "I couldn't see much. Just bodies lying on the ground. And that child, that boy, standing there. He looked up... He was..."

"He was what?" Dick's voice was quiet.

"He was _me_." It was obvious, Bruce knew that, yet that moment in the dream had been - shocking. Terrifying, in the way only nightmares can be. "Then you were trying to get me away again. And there was a sound. Like a million wings, coming fast. You said it was too late, and it was. They came - the bats - thousands of them, a cloud of them, swarming around us. They - they tore you apart, and then they started on me..." He stopped, breathing as hard as if he had been running.

"And then?"

"Nothing. Then I woke up."

- - -

"Ah. You look lovely in that outfit, my dear."

"Thank you." Catwoman smiled at Jonathan Crane as he pulled his rough cloth hood over his head. "Where are we going?"

"Not far."

"What are you planning?" She tilted her head and gave him a half-teasing, half-flirtatious glance. "Batman's a clever opponent. Do you think you can outwit him?"

"My plan is simple, yet - yes, I think it's a match for the great Batman." Crane pulled on his gloves as he spoke. "I've arranged a meeting with Commissioner Gordon and our charming DA, Marion Davis, tonight, to discuss their future cooperation with me."

She blinked. "Gordon agreed to that?"

"No, I imagine he's much too noble to agree." The Scarecrow chuckled hollowly. "He'll have called in Batman. Even if by some chance he hasn't, I'm sure our disgustingly honest DA will have. Either way, it's Batman I'm expecting tonight."

"I see," she said. "So you've set a trap."

"Yes. And since you've so graciously offered to assist, you may have the honor of snapping it shut."

- - -

"I've told you what I dreamed. What else do you want me to say?" Bruce demanded.

"Well - what did it mean?" Dick asked.

"What did it _mean_?" Bruce ran a hand through his hair. "It's obvious, isn't it? That couple with the kid were my parents. It was the night they died. A nightmare about it."

"And what was Kathy doing there? What was I doing there?"

"How should I know?"

"It's _your_ dream."

"Dreams don't have to make sense." Bruce sighed. "I guess Kathy was there because she died too. Because I lost my parents and I lost her, too."

"Okay. Then why dream about me? I'm pretty sure I'm still alive."

Bruce glanced at him. "At the time - I didn't know that for sure. I worried about you while you were gone. You could have died and I might never have known."

"Well..." Dick looked uncomfortable but kept going. "Do you think that's why? Is there any other reason you'd pick your parents, Kathy, and me to dream about?"

"No - I don't know. I tried to save you... tried to find them. But it was too late..." The image of that dark alleyway returned, filled with death, a boy's face mirroring his.

"Did you feel afraid then? Or angry? Or... what?"

"All of that, I guess. And... guilty." He turned his face away, almost surprised that he had said it.

And of course, Dick pounced on it. "Guilty? Why?"

"If it wasn't for me, Kathy would never have become Batwoman. She'd be alive today."

There was a hesitant touch on his shoulder, and Bruce looked around to see Dick next to him, his face concerned. "Look, I know how you feel. I felt pretty guilty myself about Kathy. Still do. But she made her own decisions. She knew the risks, and chose to take them, just like you do. It wasn't your fault."

"I know all that. I just don't _believe_ it."

"And me? Why did you feel guilty about me?"

Bruce snorted faintly. "That should be obvious. I tried to blame you for Kathy's death. Tried to force you to give up being Nightwing. Hit you when you wouldn't do what I wanted. I drove you away, and for all I knew you could have gotten hurt or killed, somewhere where I couldn't help you."

"Well..." Dick smiled crookedly. "I won't say you're wrong, but I made my own choices too. Like you said before, you were trying to protect me, even if it was in a pretty half-assed way."

"That's not a bad description." Bruce tried to smile back, hoping Dick wouldn't ask the inevitable next question.

But he did. "And... what about your parents? Why feel guilty about them?"

"What makes you think I feel guilty?"

"It's all over your face, Bruce. What is it?"

- - -

"Ms. Davies, where's my father? I know you got the same email he did. Where is he meeting the Scarecrow?"

There was a pause, and then, in place of the denial Barbara has expected, only a quiet, "_How do you know about that?_"

"Doesn't matter. Please, you've got to tell me where they're meeting."

"_What are you going to do?_"

"Make sure he doesn't get himself killed! Look, I can search his hard drive for that email and recover it, but that would take time. Too much time. Tell me!"

"_Damn it all to hell! I knew this was a bad idea - how I let him talk me into this..._" She seemed to collect herself. "_All right. I'll tell you._"

- - -

"It was my fault my parents died."

Dick stared, his brows contracting. "What are you talking about? You were a little kid."

"I was the one who wanted to take a shortcut through that alley." Bruce grimaced. "I thought it looked _neat_. All dark and scary. And of course when my parents said 'no', that just made it even more attractive. I was a stubborn, spoiled little... I ran on ahead, and they had no choice but to follow me. And _he_ was waiting. I led them right to him."

Dick watched him, obviously choosing his next words with care. "Bruce, listen to me. A mugger killed your parents. Not you. You were a child, and you were just doing what a child does."

"And if I hadn't done it, they would still be alive."

"Maybe they would be. Maybe not. Things happen, Bruce. We're not perfect. Don't you think I still feel guilty when I remember seeing a strange man hanging around my parents' circus equipment? If I had said something, maybe _they'd_ be alive today." Dick stepped closer, his voice insistent, as Bruce turned his face away. "Do you remember what you said to me when I told you about that? You said it wasn't my fault. Well, take your own advice. Stop blaming yourself."

"Don't you think I've told myself that, hundreds of times? But the fact remains that if I hadn't run into that alley, my parents wouldn't have died. I would never have become Batman, Kathy would never have followed my example to become Batwoman and ended up being killed, and you would never have become Nightwing and be risking your own life now."

"Maybe. Or not. Do you think you're the only guy out there who can inspire people? If it wasn't you, maybe it would have been Superman or Wonder Woman. And - if Batman had never existed, how many of the people you've saved would be dead now? How many of the crooks and murderers you've caught would still be loose? And hell, a week ago I saved a little boy from a fire. If there had been no Batman, and no Nightwing, his folks would be at his funeral around now."

"You're right, I know that," Bruce said quietly, "but it's one thing to know it with my head, and another to really believe it inside. Logical or not, I can't help the way I feel."

"It's called survivor's guilt. You wonder why you lived, when they died. It's not unusual."

Bruce smiled ironically. "I'm familiar with the concept."

There was a pause, and then Dick's voice came again. "At least now we know what you're really afraid of. Not bats. You're afraid of Batman, and what he stands for. Yourself."

Bruce was saved from a reply by the sound of a cellphone ringing. After a quick frown, Dick looked around, picked up the jacket he had tossed onto a chair, and fumbled in the pocket. He answered the call in a low voice, his back turned, but his voice still clear in the silence of the Batcave.

"Are you sure? Okay. Okay, just stay there. And don't worry, everything'll be all right."

He hung up and turned around, his eyes finding Bruce's. "That was Barbara. Her father's gone to meet the Scarecrow, in an abandoned building on the south side. She doesn't know what he's planning to do, but she's scared."

Bruce nodded, and reached up to pull his mask into place. "Then get changed, and let's go."

"Are you sure-"

"Yes. I can do this." Bruce smiled, with more confidence than he felt. _I hope._

- - -

Catwoman stepped out of the stairwell, through a doorway, and stopped to look around. The beams of the flashlights she and a collection of the Scarecrow's men were carrying revealed a large space, painted a fading industrial gray, large pipes visible overhead and a few doors opening into unseen rooms. A basement. "Where are we going?" she asked, her voice lowered.

"Upstairs," the Scarecrow said. "To the top. To the site of the Batman's downfall. Exciting, isn't it?" He laughed, a hollow and chilling sound.

"Yes," she said, forcing a smile. "Thrilling."

- - -

She had called for help - but that wasn't enough. No way she could just sit home, the way Dick had told her to, and let someone else take over while her father was in danger. No, she had to be there, to make sure. Had to do this for herself.

And, Barbara had to admit as she locked the door to the small basement room she had claimed for this purpose, and picked up the black and gold costume that was waiting for her - this was the most exciting thing she had ever done.

- - -

TBC...


	10. Confrontation

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Confrontation

- - -

James Gordon, Police Commissioner of Gotham City. An imposing title, Jim thought as he stepped through the opening someone had torn in the boarded-up side entrance to an abandoned building on the north side of town. Tonight felt almost as if Jim Gordon, police detective, had returned from more than twenty years ago to rescue his present self from the consequences of his own mistakes.

The faint smell of smoke seeped into the still air. There had been a fire here, he realized as his flashlight beam revealed a thin film of black soot on the floor which his steps had disturbed. Maybe that was what had driven out the original tenants. Or maybe it had been the gradual deterioration of this neighborhood from luxury and elegance into decay and menace, and the fire had been a landlord's attempt to recover his investment with an insurance payment. _Have to look it up... if I make it out of here alive._

He passed an empty doorframe and glanced inside, seeing a dining room table that had gone un-dined-on for years; and a console television, its glass face shattered, its insides hidden in shadow. Dust dulled their once-bright surfaces, dust and dirt...

_No!_ Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _No!_ The air smelled musty, dusty, dirty... _No!_ He'd done so well so far. Survived the car ride. Made it into the building with only a few shudders of disgust. _Come on, Jimmy, don't lose it now. You can't afford to._ The Scarecrow had to be stopped. There was more at stake here than himself, or Batman, or any of the other victims. With a weapon like this - the Scarecrow had already gotten to Billingsley. What if he had gotten the mayor, as was his original intention? How many people had the strength not to give in? What if he got more ambitious - the rich, the powerful, the influential; no one would be safe. How many lives would be ruined, how far would it go...?

And then he saw it before him, the Scarecrow's message, telling him where they would meet. Fear faded into the background as he straightened resolutely and then turned to look for the stairs. This had to stop, here and now. One way or another. If he could bring the Scarecrow in alive, good. If not...

- - -

There was only a slight creaking noise as Starman pried another board loose from a second story window and silently laid it down on the small balcony they had climbed onto. After a quick glance at Nightwing he ducked and led the way inside, feeling a twinge of annoyance as he instinctively reached to pull his cape out of the way and found nothing.

They had found Gordon's car parked in front. He must be here. But where? He had counted ten floors. This had once been a luxury building; it looked like there were five large apartments on each floor. Or the Scarecrow could be on the roof, or in the lobby, or the basement... He was probably hiding, waiting to see if Gordon had brought the police, or other reinforcements. Which he hadn't, no cop cars outside. Cautiously he and Nightwing crept down a dark, hushed hallway by the faint illumination of dimmed flashlights.

"Bat-- _Star_man..." Nightwing's barely audible whisper brought his attention to the stairwell he had just passed. There, in a layer of dust that seemed to have been accumulating for decades, they saw the outline of a footprint.

Gordon? The Scarecrow or his men? Someone else? In any case, the person had been going up the stairs. Nightwing paused just long enough to direct his flashlight down to the first floor, and they saw it - only faintly visible, a message scratched in the dirt.

'_PENTHOUSE_'

- - -

Catwoman ran an experienced eye over the setup. They were in a long-abandoned two-level apartment, in the upper level of a penthouse surrounded by a balcony on the roof of this once-impressive building. A few dust-shrouded pieces of furniture still decorated the living room with its view of the surrounding buildings, many of them now dark, but enough light filtering in to let her see. The Scarecrow stood in the middle in his outfit of rags and hood. As he waved a hand most of his men scattered, disappearing behind furniture and into the other rooms.

"When will Batman get here?" she asked.

"Any moment, I imagine.

"I want first crack at him."

"So eager. All right, take your friends Marty and Danny and check for him downstairs. But..." he reached for her, the touch of his thin fingers making the flesh of her arm crawl. "Don't spoil my fun. I want him alive, and afraid."

"And Nightwing?"

Scarecrow shrugged. "Do whatever you wish with him. Just make it painful, as punishment for preventing me from getting Billingsley's payment."

"Naturally." Catwoman smiled, turned to her own former henchmen, and nodded. "Follow me. And try to keep up."

- - -

Somehow no one had told her crimefighting would involve sneaking into filthy, dark old buildings, her heart thumping so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it from a block away, the dusty, sooty air making her want to sneeze, and with no idea of what to do next. Barbara stopped for a deep, calming breath. _No, not Barbara,_ she told herself sternly. _I'm Batgirl now._ Still, it was going to take more than a costume and a mask to pull this off.

Had her father walked over this same floor? There were the faint outlines of footsteps, but it was impossible to tell how old they were. On the other hand - the smell of smoke prickled her nose again. That should have settled out of the air long ago, until someone stirred it up. She had seen his car outside; yes, he was here. But where?

Nerves jumping, she moved deeper into the building, darting her flashlight beam into open doorways, expecting an armed thug to come jumping out at her any moment. She was so tense, it would almost be a relief - had to stay calm, not fall apart if and when something happened.

_Dammit, Dad, this is all your fault,_ she muttered silently to herself, and then, _What was that?_ The whisper of footsteps, and a voice, from upstairs. As she started in that direction, her eye caught marks in the dust of the floor, a roughly scrawled message. _Penthouse._ She put away the flashlight and lifted a small glowstick from her belt. A moment later, by its barely visible light, she was on the way up.

- - -

Jim wondered if he had heard movement, or if it was only his overstretched nerves, as he eased through the doorway of the apparently empty penthouse living room. No, not just nerves. The Scarecrow must be here, he had arrived first, and left that message downstairs; he must be here. Somewhere.

Might as well just face it, instead of sneaking around like this. As his fingers found the reassuring cold metal of the small gun in his jacket pocket, Jim called out. "I know you're here, Crane. Why not come out?"

"_James Gordon. I rather doubted you would come, but here you are._"

The voice was low, dry, and had come from behind him. Jim whirled, instinctively dropping into a half-crouch, a throwback to his days in a more active role. "Where are you?" he demanded.

A form seemed to materialize from the shadows of a corner, near the picture windows letting in the only light in the room. Crane, in his Scarecrow getup, the dull brown and grays of his clothes and hood providing perfect camouflage. "Are you alone?"

"Yes. Ms. Davis isn't coming, but I can speak for both of us."

"I see. Disappointing. And I suppose you're here to indignantly refuse my proposal?"

"I'm here for that. Among other things." Before he could lose his nerve, Jim pulled the gun from his pocket. "I'm here to stop you, once and for all."

- - -

Starman froze, listening, trying to pick out the voices he had heard from the background of distant traffic and the soft sigh of the breeze gusting over them out on a rusty fire escape. They had chosen this way up as possibly giving them a better chance of surprising the Scarecrow, and so far it had worked.

Another sound. Jim Gordon's voice, the tone angry and defiant. He turned his head to glance back at Nightwing. They exchanged a quick nod and started towards the top of the ladder, where he could see the broken glass of a window into the penthouse.

- - -

"Did you hear that?" Danny said, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

"Yes," Catwoman hissed softly. "Be quiet, you idiot."

"But it could be Batman...!" At least he had lowered his voice, which was almost squeaking in fear now.

Catwoman only gave him a glare. Waving him and Marty back against the hallway wall, she crept silently towards the sound of a creaking floorboard they had heard, then stopped, looking back and seeing her two former employees do the same as the sound of voices came from above.

The perfect opportunity - and she was not the type to let it pass. As quietly as a cat, she slipped into the shadows of the stairwell and around a corner, smiling as she heard an exclamation of "Hey! Where'd she go?" waited for them to pass her, and followed.

- - -

The voices were soft and echoing as they reached Batgirl's ears. She paused on the stairway, pressed into a corner, and listened. Had that been her father's voice? And that, a man's voice, closer? So hard to tell... Only one way to find out. Concern gave her courage as she slipped the glowstick back into her belt. There was barely enough light from the windows to keep on making her way up.

A footstep... And _that_ was definitely a muttered curse in a male voice. She flattened against the wall, waiting, her heart thumping painfully as a shadow moved above. Two of them. Nowhere to hide. In another moment they would see her.

She moved swiftly, striking out with a kick to the first man's ankles, knocking him off-balance as he came down the stairs. He fell with a yelp, but the wrong way, an outstretched arm catching her across the chest and making her stagger back. Batgirl recovered quickly with a side kick as he landed more or less on his feet, and then a spin to launch another kick into his stomach. He gasped breathlessly and fell onto the next flight of stairs, skidding down them.

She had spent too much time on him... where was the other one? Already ducking back to dodge a blow, she looked up, trying to make out the shadowy forms above her. Two of them - another attacker? No, they were fighting each other. One of them fell, slid down a few steps, and lay motionless. Tensely, Batgirl waited as the other straightened and advanced a step.

"Batman?" The voice was female. The other woman made a movement, and a dim light appeared in her hand. "Who the hell are _you_?" she hissed.

"I'm Batgirl..." Somehow she didn't sound as confident or impressive as she had intended. By this time, she had her own light out. "_Catwoman?_" she exclaimed, her voice sharpening. "I thought you had reformed!"

"In case you missed it, I just finished saving your bat-butt. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you." Catwoman's tone was a silkily sarcastic whisper. "All Gotham needs is another female in a mask and cape."

"_You_ should talk-" Batgirl stopped abruptly, jumping as the sharp sound of a gunshot came from above, leaving a ringing echo behind. "Let me by!" she snarled furiously, starting up.

"Living up to your name, I see. After you, Bat_girl_."

- - -

"So, you intend to kill me," the Scarecrow said.

"I intend to take you in. If you come quietly, fine," Jim said. His voice was steady. To his own surprise, now that the time had come he felt no fear. "If you don't..." he shrugged. "That's fine, too."

The corner of his eye caught a sudden movement in another corner. His arm moved almost of its own accord, his finger tightening on the trigger. The gunshot was shockingly loud against the stillness, followed by a cry of pain. "Tell your men not to try anything," he said, the weapon aimed at the Scarecrow again. "I can drop you even with a bullet in me."

"You heard him. Put your guns down." The man in the hood waved a hand. There were two faint thumps from other parts of the room. "No need, anyway. I'm not afraid of what you'll do, James Gordon."

"No? I just shot one of your men."

"But not fatally. You're quite a good shot, I know. You didn't mean to kill him."

"They're all just small potatoes. You're the big fish, and I don't intend to let you get away."

"A mixed metaphor, but true enough. So..." The Scarecrow stepped forward, his arms outspread. "If you're going to kill me, why not go ahead?"

"Don't think I won't. You're under arrest for-"

A chuckle interrupted him. "Don't make me laugh. If you really want to arrest me, where is your police backup? Where's your precious Batman? No, you don't want witnesses, do you?"

Jim found his jaw clenching. He tightened his grip on the gun.

"So now you'll dirty yourself with cold-blooded murder. Committed in this filthy, dusty old building. Yes, Commissioner Gordon, I heard all about the nature of your phobia from reliable sources inside the police department. You fear dirt, and with good reason, considering the sort of slime and scum you have to deal with on a daily basis."

He had slowly drifted closer, his voice dropping into an insistent murmur. Jim gasped, trying to keep his focus as the thought stabbed into his mind of the dirt that enveloped him in this room, the crust of filth and decay and neglect that was all around him, even filling the air. He was breathing it right now...

"Isn't that true, Commissioner? Jim? You're realizing it, aren't you? You're knee deep in dirt. You're unclean. You'll never be clean again..."

"No! No, I won't listen!" Choking as his throat seemed to close against the contaminated air, blinking as his eyes blurred, stinging with dust, he struggled to aim again, to fire, to end this forever.

The sound of glass shattering almost panicked him. Jim yelled as dark shapes came at him, and threw an arm over his eyes, blindly backing away, stumbling, and falling onto the floor. Repulsed, terrified, barely under control, he got back to his feet, only to be dazzled by a flash of light.

- - -

The sound of a gunshot sent a chill through Starman. He paused only a second, and then dashed up, taking the fire escape steps two at a time. At the top, he threw himself at the window, looking through... Instead of what he feared, Gordon was standing, his arm outstretched and trembling, a gun in his hand, aimed at a figure dressed in shabby rags with a hood over his head. As he tried to make sense of what was going on, Gordon cried out, flinching as if he had been hit.

No more time... With a hard kick, Starman shattered what remained of the glass in the window and dived through. As he plunged into a shoulder roll and came back to his feet, he threw down the flare he already had in his hand, calling, "_Flash!_" to warn Nightwing, who had landed beside him, then closing his eyes for the second of initial brightness.

When he opened them, the room was clear in the fading light - one of the Scarecrow's men in each corner - one of them down, clutching a bloody shoulder, possibly the target of the shot they had heard. A tiny object whizzed by him, one of Nightwing's black throwing stars, hitting one of the thugs in the gun hand. A flip of the wrist, and Starman had disarmed the other with his own silver star.

But the fight wasn't over, he realized. Two more men appeared in a doorway leading to what must be a bedroom, the glint of metal showing they were armed. As he dived for cover behind an ancient couch, he heard the report of another gunshot from the hallway. More of them. The temporary lighting of the flash was gone, and the new arrivals hadn't been blinded, in fact now he and Nightwing were at a disadvantage since their eyes had adapted to the light.

He was reaching for another flare when the sound of an impact and the thud of a body falling made him look up. Someone was struggling out in the hallway. Starman made a quick decision and leaped over the barrier of the sofa for the bedroom doorway on the other side of the room. He rolled again as two dark shapes came at him, jumped up, and drove a fist into the face he could see there. The man staggered back, bringing up a gun. Starman chopped at his wrist and in almost the same motion pivoted and kicked out, slamming his hapless opponent into the wall. He turned to take care of the other thug just in time to see Nightwing bounce an escrima stick off the man's head.

It took only an instant to cross the room, flatten against the wall next to the hall doorway, and then dart through, keeping low and alert for danger. Two bodies lay inert on the hallway floor: two of the Scarecrow's men. After a glance he spun around to find whoever had knocked them out--

"About time you got out here. Us helpless women would have been up the creek if we'd waited for you," a faintly mocking and very familiar voice drawled.

"Selina?" He straightened slowly as she appeared from a dark corner, dressed in a darker variation of her usual catsuit, and saw her eyes widen as she got a good look at him.

"What...? Batman? Is that you?"

So much for fooling the criminals of Gotham... "Yes, it's me."

She scanned him up and down. "Very becoming, but - what's the idea?"

"Don't call him Batman, he's Starman now," Nightwing said dryly from behind him.

"Ah, because of your little bat problem? Won't work, you know."

"Hmm. Speaking of clothes, I see you're in your Catwoman outfit again. I thought you had reformed."

"All you bats talk alike. I knew the Scarecrow was out to get you, so I did a little - undercover work." She smiled, crossing her arms, and then turned her head. "And I seem to have picked up something that belongs to you. Don't be shy," she called. "You did your share of taking care of these guys, now come out and take credit."

Another woman appeared from behind her, shorter, younger, wearing a black costume with deep gold gloves and boots, a scalloped cape, a cowled mask with red hair appearing from underneath it and a yellow bat emblem on her chest... For an instant Starman felt an almost dizzying sense of déjà vu. Kathy had appeared from nowhere as Batwoman, just like this.

"Who the _hell_ are _you_?" Nightwing stepped around him, staring at the newcomer. His fists clenched, and his voice seemed angrier than was really justified under the circumstances. Unless...

"Where's... where's Commissioner Gordon?" the red-headed young woman asked.

"In there." Nightwing jerked his head in the direction they had just come from. His voice softened slightly. "He's okay, just shaken up."

"Thanks." She ran by, with Nightwing following.

"Says her name's Batgirl," Catwoman was saying cheerfully. "It's getting so you can't swing a cape in this town without hitting a Bat-something. I don't suppose you have a Bat-hound or a Bat-mite floating around?"

Starman frowned. This Batgirl was a complication, but there was a more immediate problem. "Where's the Scarecrow?"

Her face abruptly became serious. "I didn't see him. You mean you didn't get him?"

"No. He must have slipped out another way. Damn! We'll have to search the building. Get the cops here. Maybe we can cut him off."

"Before you run away..." Catwoman's voice stopped him as he headed back for Nightwing, who was with Batgirl and a pale but apparently unharmed Gordon. "I happen to know where the Scarecrow's hideout is. Where he's probably headed right now. Just in case you're interested."

- - -

"What's down there?" Nightwing asked.

It had taken a few minutes to make sure all the Scarecrow's men were accounted for and securely tied up. Commissioner Gordon had taken care of calling the police in and volunteered to stay and meet them, and follow later. Now the four of them were grouped around the doorway of a stairwell Catwoman had led them to in the basement, staring down at a set of steps that disappeared into darkness. He glanced up for a moment at Batgirl's face. She saw the movement and met his eyes, then glanced away.

"These stairs go down to an abandoned subway station," Catwoman was saying. "Once there was a direct connection from the building into the station through a short tunnel."

"The old Gardner Street station," Starman said. "There were offices down there. Shops. Wouldn't be hard to tap into power and water. A perfect hideout."

Catwoman smiled. "I recognized it as soon as Marty and Danny took me there - a few years ago I scouted it as a possible hideout myself."

"Let's go." Flashlight in hand, Starman started down the stairs, with Catwoman behind him.

"Hold on just a minute," Nightwing said, taking Batgirl's arm as she took a step to follow. "_You_ can stay here. Come later with your - with the cops if you want."

"No way. I have as much of a stake in this as any of you. I want that phobia antidote."

"So this is how you decided to get it?" He lowered his voice to a furious whisper. "I know it's you, Babs. Who else would show up here, now? Who else wants that antidote so much?"

"Yes, it's me. _Dick._"

Momentarily distracted as he wondered if that had been an insult or his name, he almost let her get out of his grip. "What do you--"

"It's obvious. The way you were always disappearing and you wouldn't tell me anything, even though I could tell you wanted to. And then - Nightwing was injured, and you vanished. You left town, he left town. You came back, he came back. I was pretty sure - and then tonight I called Dick, and _you_ showed up." She pulled free and headed for the stairs again.

"I won't let you go. It's too dangerous!"

"If you can do it, so can I." She threw him a defiant glance and started down.

"Oh, for... Look, just stay close to me, will you? And be careful!"

- - -

There was light when Starman reached the end of the tunnel leading from the stairway to the station, the harsh glare of a string of bare bulbs hanging near unused tracks. No sign of the Scarecrow. "Any idea where he's gone?" he asked as Catwoman stopped beside him.

She shook her head. "No. I was only here once, tonight, and he didn't show me where he's actually living - or has his laboratory and the antidote."

"Must be in the rooms off the actual station."

"Yes. There were shops on this side of the tracks." She pointed. "Offices and a control room on the other side."

"Can't give him time to get away..." He glanced at her.

"We'll have to split up." She smiled as he hesitated. "What's the matter, don't trust me?"

"It's not that. The Scarecrow is a dangerous opponent."

"And so am I."

"I just don't want him to do to you what he did to me."

They were facing each other now, as she raised her eyes to his. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm forewarned. Besides, Batboy and -girl should be along any minute. Won't take us long to search here, and then we can catch up with you. Now, are we going to get on with it, or do you want to give him enough time to get out of the state?"

"Okay. Just be careful."

"You too. Don't take any wooden bats."

But he paused again as she started to turn away. "Catwoman... Selina..."

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this for me?"

For a moment he thought he saw something warm gleam in her green eyes, but then it disappeared in an ironic smile. "Men... always thinking it's all about _them_. I just want you and the Commish alive to put in a good word for me with my parole officer."

With a smile and a shake of the head, he jumped down onto the tracks and ran across, pulling himself up on the other side. There was less light here. The offices must be through a door he saw a few yards down, marked _Authorized Use Only_. It was locked - but that didn't stop him for long. In seconds he was making his way silently down a dark corridor.

But not completely dark... He suspected this was it when he saw an edge of light under a door he was approaching, and was sure when the sound of something falling came through it. Best to make this fast, and surprise him...

The door burst open at the first kick. Starman leaped in, landing in a crouch, sweeping a quick look around. This room might once have been a control center; there were panels and consoles along the walls. Now it had been turned into a laboratory, complete with benches and chemical equipment. The Scarecrow - or rather Jonathan Crane, his hood was gone - was standing a couple of yards away, his back to a workbench, clutching a cardboard box.

Starman rose to his feet and took a step forward. "Give it up, Crane," he said softly. "Your men are captured. There's nowhere to run."

"Who...? Ah, I get it. The clothes may change, but the style remains the same. Batman, I presume?"

"Starman. But by any name, I'm taking you in."

"Are you, now?" Unhurriedly, Crane turned to put the box down. "We'll see about that." With a sudden gesture, he reached inside his shirt and pulled out something black. As he held it out between his hands, Starman saw it was a bat - a paper cutout of a bat, like the ones that had terrified him only the day before, only bigger. "Batman, Starman, whatever you want to call yourself... This is a bat. And you're afraid of bats, aren't you?"

A _bat_ - a rush of fear ran through him, a cold stream through his heart, the impulse to run, to get away from the creature menacing him... _No!_ It was only paper. Only paper, nothing to be afraid of... Bats were his own symbol, he had worn that same shape on his chest for years, it was _him_, a side of himself he didn't always like, but a side he would not, _could_ not, give up, maybe even a side he could be proud of... His heart pounded, his knees trembled; he felt the fear - but it was different this time, no longer the overwhelming madness he had felt before. Still terrifying - but with a supreme effort of will...

He took a quick couple of steps and drove a fist forward, hearing the paper tear as he punched through it and connected with Crane's jaw. The criminal professor staggered back, hit the workbench, and fell, to stare up in disbelief.

"Still think I'm afraid of bats, Crane?" He smiled. "And yes, you were right. The name's Batman."

- - -

TBC...


	11. Recovery

Bruce Wayne/Batman, Dick Grayson/Nightwing, Selina Kyle, Barbara Gordon, the Scarecrow, and all other important characters belong to DC Comics/Time Warner.  
I am using them without permission, however I have not and don't expect to make money from this.

Rated PG : mild language; violence, some mature concepts.

Not only the end of the story, but the end of this series, at least for now. Thanks to all who read and reviewed. Special thanks to Robster72 for beta reading. (Check out his stories!) I've enjoyed writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading.

Special story notes: As stated in the first chapter, the basic idea for this came from an old comics story, although I changed it considerably and added to it. Believe it or not, the idea of Batman temporarily becoming Starman came from that story - complete with a spectacularly ugly costume, which I modified considerably.

Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chiroptophobia**

* * *

Recovery

- - -

Outside, dawn would be breaking just about now, the light at the end of a long, dark night. He couldn't see it down here in the perpetual darkness and quiet of the Batcave, but in a strange way it was almost as if he could feel it.

Bruce held it up: a small glass tube with a tablespoon or so of clear amber liquid inside. It looked for all the world like a fine Scotch, as it caught the light in a warm glow. The cure Avery Billingsley had been willing to pay for, the cure Gordon and Ms. Davis had been tempted by, the cure Tyrell needed, the cure he himself had fought for. And here it was.

It had been in the box Crane had been trying to get away with: a supply of the fine powder he had used to create fear in his victims, and a dozen or so tubes of this, which he would have sold to free them from that fear, along with his notes and formulas. That this was the cure had been confirmed by the Scarecrow's men, several of whom had decided to cooperate.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs leading down from the house broke the silence. Bruce looked around and saw Dick reach the cave floor and stop, before he returned his gaze to the tube of liquid.

"Aren't you going to drink it?" Dick asked.

"I'm thinking about it."

"It's not poisonous or anything. Barbara said the police lab tested it out. Her father took his already."

"I know. I tested an extra sample here, too."

"Then why are you just staring at it?"

Bruce held the tube up, resting an elbow on the table in front of him. "I didn't panic tonight. The fear was there, but I was able to control it."

"I know... Is that why? You want to do it on your own, without an antidote?"

"It would be a challenge."

"But why make things harder for yourself than they have to be?"

Bruce shrugged slightly, finding himself without an answer for that, and changed the subject. "What else did Barbara tell you?"

"The Scarecrow's locked up, and his men are all eager to testify against him. I guess they want him behind bars where he can't come after them for failing him."

"Any sign of Selina?"

"Nope, she took off as soon as we knew you were okay."

"Yeah... I still don't quite understand why she did it."

"You don't?" Dick was grinning as Bruce glanced up. "Well, maybe someday she'll tell you."

"And what about Barbara? Or should I call her Batgirl?"

"You figured that one out, huh?"

"Not too hard to do. By the way, you should tell her that red hair is a little too conspicuous for a disguise. If she keeps on with this, she should cover it or wear a wig."

"If she keeps on with it? You mean you wouldn't try to stop her?"

Bruce smiled, a little sadly. "I'd certainly prefer to see her give it up before she gets hurt, but I've learned it's not always such a good idea to tell people what to do."

"Yeah? Well..." Dick shot him a rueful look. "_I've_ gotten a good idea of how you felt. I'm hoping I can convince her she'd do better with detective work behind the scenes - research, stuff like that, while we do the street work."

"We? Does that mean you're planning to stay?"

Dick's expression seemed almost - surprised, as if he hadn't thought about the question before. "Well, yeah... I guess I kinda just assumed... If that's not a problem with you."

"Of course not. I'm glad." Bruce smiled at him. "I hope you didn't believe that story I told you about keeping your apartment as a base of operations. I was hoping you'd come back someday."

"Really?" He got a grin in return. "So - so I guess it's back to Batman for you, huh?"

"Yes. You know, I've been thinking it's time for a change in the old Batman suit. More of a basic black, maybe. More streamlined. The Starman costume wasn't so bad. Needs a cape, though."

"Sounds cool. Change can be good."

"Yeah, it can." Bruce looked up at Dick's face again, and smiled. "You know, you're right," he added.

"About what?"

"About not making things hard on myself." He twisted the top off the tube of amber liquid, raised it in a silent toast, and gulped it down, finding it surprisingly sweet. Tossing the empty container onto the table, he rose to his feet. "You headed home now?"

"Yeah. Been a long night."

"I'll walk you out."

Minutes later, they stepped through the front door of the Wayne house into the pale light and fresh air of early dawn. Bruce looked up at a flash of red and saw a robin land in a nearby tree and then take wing again, disappearing into the sky.

"Man, it's going to be a nice day," Dick said. "Too bad I'm going to spend most of it sleeping."

"You and me both, kid."

"Yeah... Well, see ya later."

"Dick?" Bruce saw him turn back, a questioning expression on his face, and took a step closer. "I just want to say thanks. I might not have gotten through this without your help, and I'll always be grateful."

Dick's face betrayed a flash of surprise before he grinned happily. "What are friends for, if not to help each other?"

_Friends._ Bruce watched as Dick put on his helmet, started up, and drove away, disappearing down the road past the house. There was a time he would have said he had no true friends, and needed none. That time was past. Friends, a partner... Maybe more, if what he had seen in Selina's eyes was what he found himself hoping for. Now, _that_ would be a challenge. Shaking his head at the thought, he turned to go back in the house.

Friends, partners, lovers. Strange that he had never really noticed all the changes that had happened in his life during the last years until now, when they had all seemed to come together in one night.

Bruce smiled. Change can be good.

- End -


End file.
